^JUTOFTHE 
SHADOW 


RPSECOHEN 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 
ROSE  COHEN 


JACOB  ABLER  IN  KING  LEAR. 


OUT  OF 

THE  SHADOW 

BY 

ROSE  COHEN 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 

WALTER  JACK  DUNCAN 

NEW  ^fir  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 

CT 
QH5 


Copyright,  1918, 
By  George  H.  Dorcm  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 

LEONORA  O'REILLY 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

JACOB  ABLER  IN  "KING  LEAR" Frontispiece 

PAGE 
OUR  HOME  WAS  A  LOG   HOUSE   COVERED  WITH   A   STRAW 

ROOF 2 

THE  DROSKY  IS  AT  THE  DOOR 50 

ALL  DAY  WE  SAT  OR  WALKED  ABOUT  IN  THE  SUN     .  62 

I  SAW  THE  JEWISH  MEN  HURRYING  HOME  FROM  WORK  IOO 

WITH  BABY  ON  ONE  ARM,  A  BUNDLE  ON  THE  OTHER     .  142 

HE  FLUNG  THEM  FROM  A  STRANGE  ROOF  .     .     .     .     ,  1 66 

WOMEN  AT  THE  PUSH-CARTS  HAGGLED  MORE  AND  MORE 

DESPERATELY  OVER  A  CENT 1 88 

HE  STOOD  STIRRING  THE  CAN  WITH  A  STICK  .      .     .     .  2  04 

THIS  WAS  A  "PIECE  WORK"  SHOP 230 

HE  AND  MOTHER  CARTED  OVER  THE  FURNITURE  ON  A 

PUSH-CART 266 

IT  WAS  A  ONE-WINDOW  STORE 302 


VU 


PART  ONE 


PART  ONE 


I  WAS  born  in  a  small  Russian  village.  Our  home  was 
a  log  house,  covered  with  a  straw  roof.  The  front  part 
of  the  house  overlooked  a  large  clear  lake,  and  the  back, 
open  fields. 

The  first  time  I  became  aware  of  my  existence  was  on 
a  cold  winter  night.  My  father  and  I  were  sitting  on  top 
of  our  red  brick  oven.  The  wind,  whistling  through  the 
chimney  and  rattling  the  ice-covered  windows,  frightened 
me,  and  so  I  pressed  close  to  my  father  and  held  his  hand 
tightly.  He  was  looking  across  the  room  where  mother's 
bed  stood  curtained  off  with  white  sheets.  Every  now 
and  then  I  heard  a  moan  coming  from  the  bed,  and  each 
time  I  felt  father's  hand  tremble. 

Appearing  and  disappearing  behind  the  bed  curtains, 
I  saw  my  little  old  great-aunt,  in  a  red  quilted  petticoat 
and  white,  close-fitting  cap.  Whenever  she  appeared  and 
caught  father's  eye,  she  smiled  to  him,  a  sweet,  crooked 
smile.  Finally,  I  recall  hearing  a  few  sound  slaps,  fol- 
lowed by  a  baby's  cry  and  aunt  calling  out  loudly,  "It's 
a  girl  again." 

About  three  years  passed.  With  my  little  sister  as 
companion,  I  recall  many  happy  days  we  spent  together. 
In  the  summer  we  picked  field  mushrooms  at  the  back  of 
the  house  or  played  near  the  lake  and  watched  the  women 
bleaching  their  linens.  I  was  happiest  in  the  morning 
when  I  first  went  out  of  doors.  To  see  the  sunshine,  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  green  fields,  filled  my  soul  with  unspeak- 

9 


10  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

able  happiness.  At  such  moments  I  would  run  away 
from  my  little  sister,  hide  myself  in  a  favourite  bush  and 
sit  for  a  while  listening  to  the  singing  of  the  birds  and 
the  rustling  of  the  leaves.  Then  I  would  jump  up  and 
skip  about  like  a  young  pony  and  shout  out  of  pure  joy. 

In  the  winter  we  cut  and  made  doll's  clothing.  Father 
was  a  tailor,  and  as  soon  as  we  were  able  to  hold  a  needle 
we  were  taught  to  sew.  Mother  taught  us  how  to  spin, 
grandfather  made  toys  out  of  wood  for  us,  and  grand- 
mother told  us  stories. 

These  were  the  pleasant  days  during  the  winter.  But 
there  were  others,  days  that  were  cold  and  dark  and 
dreary,  when  we  children  had  to  stay  a  great  part  of 
the  time  on  top  of  the  oven,  and  no  one  came,  not  even 
a  beggar.  But  when  a  beggar  did  come  our  joy  was 
boundless. 

I  remember  that  grandfather  would  hasten  to  meet 
the  poor  man,  as  we  called  him,  at  the  door  with  a  hearty 
handshake  and  a  welcoming  smile,  saying,  "Peace  be 
with  you,  brother.  Take  off  your  knapsack  and  stay 
over  night." 

Mother  would  put  on  a  fresh  apron  and  begin  to  pre- 
pare something  extra  for  supper.  And  grandmother, 
who  was  blind,  and  always  sat  in  bed  knitting  a  stocking, 
would  stop  for  a  moment  at  the  sound  of  the  stranger's 
voice  to  smooth  the  comforter  on  her  bed.  Her  pale 
face,  so  indifferent  a  minute  before,  would  light  up  as 
if  with  new  life,  while  we  children,  fearing,  if  seen  idle, 
to  be  rebuked  and  sent  into  a  distant  corner  from  where 
we  could  neither  see  nor  hear  the  stranger,  would  sud- 
denly find  a  dozen  things  to  do. 

On  such  a  night  after  supper  there  was  something  of 
the  holiday  spirit  in  our  home.  We  would  light  the  lamp 
instead  of  a  candle  and  place  it  on  a  milk  jug  in  the  centre 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  II 

of  the  table.  Then  we  all  sat  around  it,  grandmother 
with  her  knitting,  mother  with  her  sewing,  all  of  us  lis- 
tening eagerly  to  the  stories  the  stranger  told.  But  more 
surprised  even  than  any  of  us  children  about  the  wonder- 
ful things  going  on  in  the  world,  was  grandfather.  He 
would  sit  listening  with  his  lips  partly  open  and  his  eyes 
large  with  wonder.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  call 
out,  "Ach,  brother,  I  never  would  have  even  dreamt 
such  things  were  possible!" 

At  bedtime  grandfather  would  give  up  his  favourite 
bed,  the  bench  near  the  oven,  to  the  stranger.  Mother 
would  give  him  the  largest  and  softest  of  her  pillows. 
And  grandmother  would  give  him  a  clean  pair  of  socks 
to  put  on  in  the  morning. 

The  next  day  after  he  was  gone  we  felt  as  after  a 
pleasant  holiday  when  we  had  to  put  on  our  old  clothes 
and  turn  in  to  do  the  every  day  things. 

Yes,  I  recall  happy  days,  and  sad  days — days  of  sor- 
row which  then  were  very  real. 

Across  the  road  from  our  home,  about  a  quarter  of 
a  block  to  the  left,  was  a  cemetery.  Over  each  grave 
stood  a  wooden  cross,  and  about  the  middle  of  each  one 
there  were  tied  little  aprons  of  red,  green  and  yellow 
material.  On  windy  days  I  loved  to  watch  these  flutter- 
ing in  the  wind  and  whenever  I  looked  through  half- 
closed  eyes  they  took  form  and  became  like  coloured 
birds  hovering  over  the  graves. 

One  windy  day,  at  dusk,  I  went  out  to  the  middle  of 
the  road  to  watch  the  little  aprons  flying  in  the  breeze 
and  saw  something  red  lying  on  the  road  near  the  ceme- 
tery. I  guessed  it  to  be  an  apron  blown  away  by  the  wind. 

How  beautiful  my  doll  would  look  in  one  of  these, 
thought  I.  But  how  could  I  get  it  ?  I  was  in  mortal  fear 
of  the  cemetery.  Although  mother  had  often  pointed  out 


12 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

how  peacefully  the  dead  slept  and  had  said  that  she 
wished  the  living  were  as  little  to  be  feared,  I  never  went 
near  them.  But  now  I  wanted  the  little  red  apron  for 
my  doll.  The  longer  I  looked  at  it  the  more  I  wanted  it. 
Finally,  I  decided  to  risk  getting  it.  Slowly,  step  by 
step,  I  walked  toward  it,  keeping  my  eyes  on  the  graves 
and  repeating  softly  to  myself,  to  keep  up  courage, 
"There  is  nothing  to  fear;  there  is  nothing  to  fear," 
until  I  reached  it  When  I  had  it  in  my  hand  I 
stood  still  for  a  moment.  The  very  thought  of  turn- 
ing my  back  on  the  dead  made  my  hair  stand  on  end.  I 
walked  backwards  a  few  steps;  suddenly  I  turned  and 
ran.  As  I  ran  I  felt  my  heart  beating  violently  against 
my  ribs ;  my  feet  were  as  heavy  as  lead  and  the  distance 
to  the  house  seemed  endless.  But  I  ran  fast;  so  fast, 
that  when  I  reached  the  door  I  could  not  stop.  I  fell 
against  it,  it  flew  open  and  I  fell  headlong  into  the  house. 
Mother  came  running  over  to  pick  me  up.  When  I  re- 
gained my  breath,  I  told  her  what  had  happened  and 
showed  her  the  little  apron  which  I  still  held  in  my  hand. 
As  usual,  sister,  who  wanted  everything  she  saw  and  to 
whom  I  was  made  to  give  in  because  she  was  younger, 
came  over  and  asked  for  it  and,  as  usual,  I  refused.  She 
tried  to  snatch  it  from  my  hand  but  I  pushed  her  away. 
She  fell  and  struck  her  head  against  a  bench.  Then 
father  came  over  with  a  strap  and  told  us  to  kiss  each 
other  or  we  should  be  spanked.  Mother  looked  at  me  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  knowing,  no  doubt,  what  would  happen, 
and  she  left  the  room.  Grandmother  called  to  me  to  hide 
behind  her  back,  but  I  would  not  do  that.  My  sister 
looked  at  me,  then  at  the  strap,  and  came  over  to  kiss  me. 
But  I  could  not  at  such  moments,  neither  would  I  let  her 
kiss  me.  So  I  was  spanked  and  the  little  apron  was  taken 
away  from  me  and  given  to  her. 


OUR  HOUSE  WAS  A  LOG  HOUSE,  COVERED  WITH   A   STRAW  ROOF. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  13 


II 

WHEN  I  was  about  eleven  years  old  there  were  five 
of  us  children.  One  day  father  went  to  town  and  came 
back  with  a  stranger,  who,  we  were  told,  would  teach 
us  to  read  and  write.  Our  teacher  was  a  young  man  of 
middle  height,  thin,  dark  and  pale.  He  had  an  agree- 
able voice,  and  when  he  sang  it  was  pleasant  to  hear 
him.  When  we  did  our  lessons  well  his  eyes  brightened 
and  his  tightly  closed  lips  would  relax  a  little.  But  when 
we  did  poorly  he  was  angry  and  would  scold  us. 

As  soon  as  I  learned  how  to  read  I  would  sit  for  hours 
and  read  to  my  grandmother.  Besides  the  Bible,  we  had 
a  few  religious  books.  I  read  these  again  and  again,  and 
became  very  devout.  I  read  the  morning,  noon  and  eve- 
ning prayers,  and  sometimes  I  fasted  for  half  a  day. 
Then  I  became  less  stubborn  and  the  quarrels  between 
sister  and  myself  became  less  frequent. 

One  day  father  left  home  on  a  three  days'  journey. 
When  he  returned  he  did  not  look  like  himself.  His 
face  was  pale  and  he  seemed  to  be  restless.  During  the 
three  days  that  followed,  father  went  out  only  at  night. 
I  also  noticed  that  mother  collected  all  of  father's  clothes, 
and,  as  she  sat  mending  them,  I  often  saw  her  tears  fall 
on  her  work.  On  the  third  night  I  awoke  and  saw  father 
bending  over  me.  He  wore  his  heavy  overcoat,  his  hat 
was  pulled  well  over  his  forehead  and  a  knapsack  was 
strapped  across  his  shoulders.  Before  I  had  time  to  say 
a  word  he  kissed  me  and  went  to  grandmother's  bed  and 
woke  her  up.  "I  am  going  away,  mother."  She  sat  up, 
rubbed  her  eyes  and  asked  in  a  sleepy  voice,  "Where?" 
"To  America,"  father  whispered  hoarsely. 


14  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence;  then  grandmother 
uttered  a  cry  that  chilled  my  blood.  My  mother,  who  sat 
in  a  corner  weeping,  went  to  her  and  tried  to  quiet  her. 
The  noise  woke  grandfather  and  the  children.  We  all 
gathered  around  grandmother's  bed,  and  I  heard  father 
explaining  the  reason  for  his  going.  He  said  that  he 
could  not  get  a  passport  (  for  a  reason  I  could  not  under- 
stand at  the  time).  And  as  no  one  may  live  in  Russia 
even  a  week  without  a  passport,  he  had  to  leave  immedi- 
ately. His  explanation  did  not  comfort  grandmother; 
she  still  sat  crying  and  wringing  her  hands.  After 
embracing  us  all,  father  ran  out  of  the  house,  and  grand- 
father ran  after  him  into  the  snow  with  his  bare  feet. 
When  he  returned  he  sat  down  and  cried  like  a  little 
child.  I  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  in  prayer  for  a  safe 
journey  for  my  father. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  15 


III 

As  father's  departure  to  America  had  to  be  kept  secret 
until  he  was  safe  out  of  Russia,  we  had  to  bury  our  sor- 
row deep  in  our  own  hearts,  and  go  about  our  work  as  if 
nothing  unusual  had  happened. 

Mother  and  I  sat  at  the  window,  sewing,  and  grand- 
father found  relief  in  chopping  wood.  All  day  long  his 
axe  flashed  in  the  sun  and  chips  flew  far  and  near.  And 
even  grandmother's  tears,  which  were  always  ready, 
were  kept  back  now  as  she  sat  on  her  bed,  knitting  a 
stocking  and  rocking  the  cradle  with  one  foot,  while  sister 
seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once.  It  was  then  and  for 
the  first  time  that  I  realised  something  of  her  real  worth. 
Those  soft  grey  eyes  of  hers  seemed  to  see  every  one's 
needs.  When  grandmother  put  her  feet  down  on  the 
floor  and  felt  about  for  her  slippers,  it  was  sister  who 
would  find  them  and  stick  them  on  her  toes.  The  same 
little  woman  of  eight  kept  a  little  brother  of  five  and  a 
sister  of  two  playing  quietly  in  a  corner.  And  even 
when  they  were  hungry  she  would  not  let  them  disturb 
mother,  but  would  cut  some  thick  slices  of  black  bread, 
dip  them  into  water,  sprinkle  them  with  salt,  and  taking  a 
bite  of  her  slice,  she  would  close  her  eyes  and  say,  "M-m- 
m — what  delicious  cake!"  In  the  evening,  after  supper, 
when  grandfather  would  sit  down  near  the  stove  staring 
sadly  into  the  fire,  she  would  climb  up  on  his  knee  and 
plait  his  long  grey  beard  into  braids.  Soothed  by  her 
gentle  touches  and  childish  prattle,  he  would  fall  asleep 
and  forget  his  troubles  for  a  while. 


16  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


IV 

So  the  days  passed. 

One  morning  mother  went  to  the  postoffice  and  when 
she  came  back  she  looked  as  if  she  had  suddenly  aged. 
She  took  a  postal  card  from  her  pocket  and  we  all  bent 
our  heads  over  it  and  read :  "I  have  been  arrested  while 
crossing  the  border  and  I  am  on  my  way  home,  walking 
the  greater  part  of  the  way.  If  we  pass  through  our 
village  I  shall  ask  the  officer  to  let  me  stop  home  for  a 
few  minutes.  Be  brave  and  trust  in  God."  At  the  news 
more  tears  were  shed  in  our  house  than  on  the  Day  of 
Atonement. 

That  night  after  the  doors  were  barred  and  the  win- 
dows darkened,  grandmother,  grandfather,  and  mother, 
with  a  three  weeks'  old  baby  in  her  arms,  sat  in  the  niche 
of  our  chimney,  making  plans  to  defeat  the  Tzar  of 
Russia. 

The  next  day  mother  sent  grandfather  away  on  a  visit. 
He  was  not  a  person  to  have  around  in  case  of  trouble, 
for  the  very  sight  of  brass  buttons  put  him  into  such 
fright  and  confusion,  that  he  would  forget  his  own  name. 
After  he  was  gone  mother  went  to  town  to  see  her 
brother  and  arrange  for  the  escape.  Then  there  was 
nothing  left  to  do  but  wait  for  father's  home-coming.  I 
remember  that  I  used  to  run  out  on  the  road  many  times 
a  day  to  see  if  he  were  coming. 

One  afternoon  we  were  all  startled  at  hearing  some 
one  stamping  the  snow  off  her  feet  at  our  door.  I  ran 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.  It  was  only  Yana,  a 
woman  known  in  our  village  to  be  very  clever  and  re- 
ligious, but  unkind.  I  wondered  at  her  coming  for  I 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  17 

knew  that  she  and  my  mother  were  not  on  friendly  terms. 
She  came  into  the  house  and  walking  straight  over  to 
mother,  who  was  bending  over  the  cradle,  she  said  in 
her  usual  voice,  which  was  like  a  drake's,  soft  and  hoarse, 
"Your  husband  is  arrested;  I  just  saw  him  on  the  road!" 
Mother  became  so  pale  and  looked  so  ill  that  I  thought 
she  would  fall,  but  the  next  minute  I  saw  her  straighten 
herself,  and  putting  her  arm  over  the  cradle  as  if  to 
protect  it,  she  said  quietly  and  distinctly,  "Yana,  I  hope 
you  will  live  to  carry  better  news."  When  Yana  passed 
me  on  her  way  out  of  the  house  I  thought  her  face  looked 
more  yellow  than  usual,  and  her  black,  large  teeth  further 
apart. 

After  the  woman  was  gone  mother  put  on  a  cheerful 
face  and  busied  herself  laying  the  cloth  and  setting  food 
on  the  table,  and  grandmother  put  on  her  best  apron, 
father's  last  gift,  and  sat  down  near  the  table  with  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap,  waiting.  We  children  stood  at 
the  window  looking  out.  Soon  we  saw  father  open  our 
gate.  He  was  closely  followed  by  Yonko,  the  sheriff, 
in  his  grey  fur  cap  which  he  wore  summer  and  winter, 
and  grey  coat  tied  with  a  red  girdle. 

Father  was  limping  and  when  he  came  nearer  I  saw 
how  greatly  he  had  changed.  His  face  was  thin  and 
weatherbeaten,  and  his  eyes  had  sunk  deep  into  his  head. 
At  sight  of  us  near  the  window  his  lips  twitched,  but  the 
next  moment  we  saw  his  own  old  smile  light  up  his  whole 
face. 

Our  greeting  and  our  conversation  were  quiet  and  re- 
strained. 

When  father  sat  down  at  the  table  he  said  that  he  was 
very  hungry  but  after  taking  a  few  mouth fuls  he  fell 
asleep.  The  peasant  who  sat  near  the  stove  resting  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  turning  his  cap  between  his 


i8  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

hands,  rose  and  wanted  to  wake  father.  "Oh,  let  him 
sleep  a  little  while,"  mother  entreated.  "Impossible,"  said 
Yonko,  "the  roads  are  bad  and  we  have  to  be  in  the  next 
village  before  night  falls."  "Well,  then  just  let  him 
sleep  until  I  bathe  his  feet."  The  man  consented.  Father's 
boots  were  worn  and  wet  through,  and  were  hard  to  get 
off,  but  he  never  woke  while  mother  tugged  away  at 
them.  At  last  they  were  off  and  the  socks  also. 

"Thank  God  that  his  mother  is  blind,"  she  whispered, 
covering  her  face  for  a  moment.  Father's  feet  were 
red,  blistered,  and  swollen.  As  she  lifted  them  into  the 
basin  I  saw  her  tears  falling  into  the  water.  When  I 
looked  at  Yonko  he  turned  away  quickly  and  became 
interested  in  a  crack  in  the  ceiling. 

Our  parting  like  our  greeting  was  restrained.  Father 
embraced  grandmother,  then  he  smiled  a  quick  farewell 
from  the  door  and  was  gone.  Sister  and  I  ran  out  on 
the  road  and  stood  watching  him  until  he  looked  a 
black  speck  against  the  white  snow.  Then  we  ran  back 
to  the  house,  she  to  help  and  I  to  pray. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  19 


WITH  the  exception  of  grandmother,  I  was  the  most 
pious  and  the  most  superstitious  member  of  the  family. 
In  sickness  or  trouble,  while  the  others  turned  to  do 
practical  things,  I  appealed  to  God  for  help. 

So  it  was  on  the  day  when  father  was  led  away  to  the 
next  village.  Knowing  that  he  was  to  attempt  an  escape 
that  very  night,  I  felt  that  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
Better  to  concentrate  my  mind  on  my  prayers  I  climbed 
up  on  the  stove  and  sat  down  in  the  darkest  corner,  fac- 
ing the  wall.  To  shut  out  the  children's  voices  I  stuck 
my  fingers  into  my  ears  and  began  to  pray.  But  I  could 
not  put  any  heart  into  it.  I  felt,  however,  that  if  I  only 
could  pray  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  God  would  hear 
me.  In  despair,  therefore,  I  let  my  mind  dwell  on  my 
father.  Again  I  saw  him,  weatherbeaten  and  care-worn, 
limping  through  the  gate.  Again  I  saw  his  lips  twitch  as 
when  he  tried  to  smile  to  us  from  the  window.  Then  I 
recalled  stories  of  cruelty  to  those  who  served  in  the 
army.  I  remembered  Yonko,  a  strong  young  peasant, 
telling  grandfather  how  he  had  been  treated.  One  day, 
for  some  slight  offence,  he  was  struck  such  a  powerful 
blow  on  the  ear  that  he  fell  unconscious. 

Father  will  never  survive  such  a  blow,  thought  I.  Once 
he  goes  to  the  army  we  will  never  see  him  again.  How 
dark  and  desolate  our  home  will  be! 

With  a  pang  of  remorse  I  recalled  how  often  I  had 
been  discontented.  Only  a  while  before  I  remembered 
having  sulked  for  hours  merely  because  I  had  no  shoes 
of  my  own,  and  had  to  wear  out  old  ones  which  were 
much  too  large  and  made  an  awful  clatter  as  I  walked. 


20  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

How  sinful  I  had  been  to  be  discontented  when  we  were 
all  well  and  father  was  with  us.  "Oh,  God,  if  Thou  wilt 
spare  my  father,  I  will  never  wish  for  anything  again! 
Never  complain!" 

When  I  rose  it  was  dark,  the  children  were  all  in  bed, 
and  except  for  the  squeak  of  the  cradle  as  it  swung 
back  and  forth,  all  was  quiet.  I  knew  that  it  was  mother 
who  sat  up  rocking  the  cradle.  I  longed  to  speak  to  her 
of  the  hope  I  felt  but  feared  in  case  my  feelings  were 
deceiving  me  after  all. 

I  think  it  was  the  next  day  that  a  message  came  telling 
us  that  father  had  escaped  from  the  constable  in  the  next 
village.  That  was  joy  indeed  though  limited,  for  father 
was  still  on  Russian  soil  and  could  be  recaptured  any 
minute.  And  so  while  we  were  waiting,  fearing,  hoping, 
another  week  or  so  passed. 

Two  things  I  recall  distinctly  of  that  time.  Grand- 
mother, believing  children  to  be  prophets,  often  asked  us 
to  predict  the  future.  One  day  she  asked  my  brother,  a 
little  serious-faced,  wide-awake  boy  of  six,  who  looked 
upon  himself  as  one  of  the  future  great  Rabbis,  "Tell 
me,  my  child,  will  father  reach  America  safely?"  "Yes," 
he  said  with  so  much  conviction  in  his  voice  that  her  face 
lit  up  with  hope.  From  that  moment  she  was  more  cheer- 
ful. The  second  thing  is  that  there  was  an  awful  storm 
and  the  snow  lay  piled  up  almost  as  high  as  our  windows. 
But  on  Friday  it  cleared.  The  sun  came  out  bright  and 
warm.  "It  is  a  good  sign  that  it  cleared  in  honour  of 
Sabbath,"  said  grandmother,  turning  her  pale,  thin  face 
hopefully  to  the  window.  That  afternoon  we  saw  the 
mistress  of  the  inn  and  postoffice  walking  up  to  her  waist 
in  snow,  coming  toward  our  house.  "Nothing  but  a  let- 
ter would  bring  her  here  on  a  day  like  this,"  mother  cried 
and  rushed  out  of  the  house.  When  she  came  back  she 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  21 

had  a  letter  but  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
holding  it  in  her  hand  as  though  she  feared  to  open  it. 
"Look,"  said  the  post-mistress,  pointing  to  the  post  mark. 
It  was  stamped  Memel,  Prussia. 

Mother  ran  to  grandmother  and  they  embraced,  and 
stood  so  long  and  so  silently  with  their  faces  hidden  from 
us,  that  we  children  were  frightened  and  begged  them 
to  speak  to  us.  Then  mother  turned  and  caught  us  all 
into  her  arms  with  a  cry  of  joy,  while  grandmother  raised 
her  tear-stained  face  to  Heaven  in  silent  prayer. 


22  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


VI 

SPRING  came.  The  snow  which  lay  high  all  winter 
began  to  melt,  and  here  and  there  green  spots  appeared. 
Then  the  dandelions  began  to  show  their  yellow  heads, 
and  the  storks  came  flying  back  to  build  their  nests  in  the 
old  stump  in  the  cemetery.  Hens,  followed  by  groups 
of  black  and  yellow  headed  chicks,  walked  about  scratch- 
ing in  the  soft  warm  earth  and  cackling  cheerfully. 

As  for  us,  mother  and  grandmother  having  lived  in 
fear  and  anxiety  about  father  for  thirteen  years,  and 
then  having  come  near  losing  him,  found  it  hard  to  be- 
lieve at  first  that  he  was  really  beyond  the  reach  of 
Russia.  But  once  they  realised  this  fact  they  were  as 
happy  as  they  had  never  been  before. 

Mother,  who  never  sang  except  when  rocking  baby  to 
sleep,  and  then  only  hummed,  sang  now  as  she  went 
about  her  work.  And  grandmother  spoke  about  America 
from  morning  till  night. 

Having  a  lively  imagination,  she  gave  us  her  ideas  of 
what  she  thought  America  was  like,  the  kind  of  people 
father  would  be  likely  to  meet,  how  soon  he  would  find 
work,  how  much  he  would  earn,  and  how  soon  he  would 
be  able  to  take  his  family  over.  Here  she  cried  a  good 
deal,  saying,  "If  I  had  been  told  a  year  ago  that  my  only 
son  would  go  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  world,  and 
that  I  would  continue  to  live  knowing  that  I  would  never 
see  him  again,  I  would  not  have  believed  it  possible.  And 
yet  it  has  come  to  pass  and  I  am  not  only  alive,  but  con- 
tented that  he  should  be  away.  Ah,  how  strange  is  life 
and  its  ways !"  Then  she  would  dry  her  tears  and  begin 
to  wonder  how  he  would  live  without  her  care,  who 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  23 

would  look  after  his  socks,  and  who  would  cover  his  feet 
on  cold  nights.  But  soon  she  consoled  herself  by  saying, 
"Oh,  but  socks  are  cheap  out  there,  as  no  doubt  every- 
thing else  must  be,  and  they  say  that  it  is  not  as  cold 
in  America  as  in  Russia." 

And  we  children  were  as  happy  as  if  we  had  been 
released  from  a  dark,  damp  prison  cell.  It  seemed  to  us 
that  the  lake  was  never  so  clear  and  blue  or  sparkled  so 
brightly,  and  the  birds  never  sang  so  gaily  before.  We 
ran  about  visiting  one  familiar  place  after  another,  un- 
able to  stop  long  anywhere. 

I  came  to  my  bush  where  I  hid  so  often  when  I  wanted 
to  be  alone.  As  I  stooped  and  parted  the  branches  so  as 
to  hide  more  comfortably  among  them,  I  saw  a  small, 
half  finished  bird's  nest.  I  picked  it  up  and  as  I  stood 
looking  at  it,  it  occurred  to  me  how  very  near  our  home 
came  to  being  broken  up.  So  I  put  the  nest  back  care- 
fully and  went  away. 

When  grandfather  came  home  we  were  shocked  at 
the  change  in  him.  His  hair  and  beard,  grey  before,  had 
turned  white,  and  his  eyes,  they  were  the  trustful  eyes  of 
a  child,  had  a  strange  questioning  look  in  them.  He  had 
become  quite  deaf.  But  otherwise  he  was  as  sprightly 
as  ever. 

Now  the  chief  part  of  the  support  of  the  family  fell 
to  mother,  and  the  rest  of  us  helped.  Grandmother 
knitted  stockings  for  the  women  of  the  village.  Of  course 
the  stockings  had  to  be  looked  over,  the  lost  stitches  found 
and  mended  carefully.  That  was  my  work. 

Grandmother  also  peeled  the  potatoes  for  the  house. 
These,  too,  I  had  to  go  over,  and  cut  away  the  peelings 
she  had  left.  I  disliked  this  work  and  dropped  many  a 
tear  on  the  potatoes.  Then  mother  would  say,  "What, 
crying?  So  much  the  better,  we  won't  need  to  salt  the 


24 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

potatoes."  And  grandfather,  after  bringing  the  wood, 
building  the  fire,  fetching  water  from  the  spring,  would 
go  to  the  village  to  see  if  there  were  any  pots  to  mend. 

Grandfather  had  clever  hands.  He  could  do  wonders 
with  a  penknife  and  a  piece  of  wood.  And  in  mending 
pots  he  was  a  perfect  artist.  And  so  whenever  he  walked 
through  the  village  the  women  would  call  him  into  their 
homes,  bless  him  for  the  pots  he  made  whole,  and  fill  his 
little  bag,  which  he  always  carried  upon  his  back,  with 
potatoes,  carrots,  turnips  or  onions.  On  coming  home 
he  would  look  as  happy  as  if  he  had  a  whole  fortune  in 
his  bag.  "Come,  children,  and  see  what  I  have,"  he  would 
call  out  while  still  on  the  threshold.  Then  he 
would  open  his  bag,  take  out  a  carrot,  and  holding  it  up 
high  for  our  admiration,  he  would  say,  his  face  beaming, 
"Is  it  not  a  perfect  beauty?  And  sweet  and  juicy!  Just 
wait  till  you  taste  it!"  Then  he  would  scrape  it,  divide 
it  among  us  and  sit  looking  at  us  while  we  ate. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  25 


VII 

AFTER  Easter  there  was  some  pleasant  outdoor  work. 
Grandfather  dug  up  the  garden  and  we  planted  some 
vegetables.  Of  this  work  I  liked  planting  potatoes  best.  I 
enjoyed  walking  after  the  plough  in  the  cool  moist  earth 
with  my  bare  feet.  And  while  doing  so,  it  pleased  me  to 
imagine  that  I  was  Yanko  the  sower.  I  took  long  even 
strides  and  swung  my  arm  back  and  forth  in  a  circle,  as 
I  took  and  dropped  the  potatoes. 

Mother  saw  me  and  scolded,  saying  that  I  dropped 
them  too  far  apart.  "You  are  always  playing,"  she  said. 
"Your  sister,  almost  three  years  younger,  is  already  a 
little  woman;  look!" 

Bent  almost  double  under  a  bag  of  potatoes,  sister  was 
coming  towards  us,  walking  unsteadily  under  the  weight. 

When  she  reached  us  mother  took  the  bag  and  asked, 
"Is  it  not  too  heavy?" 

The  love  in  her  eyes,  and  tenderness  in  her  voice  made 
my  heart  ache  with  envy.  And  so  as  usual  I  went  for 
consolation  to  my  bush. 

While  walking  along  I  determined  never  to  play  again. 
But  as  soon  as  I  sat  down,  the  twigs  and  flowers  turned 
into  fanciful  girls  and  boys  who  adored  me.  I  named 
each  one  of  them  and  myself  I  called  Dena.  And  then 
we  went  romping  about  in  the  fields. 

I  was  extremely  happy  among  these  imaginary  com- 
panions. But  often  they  were  the  cause  of  punishment. 
For  like  real  companions  they  lured  me  away  from  my 
work  in  the  house,  to  play. 

Among  these  companions  there  was  one  who  at  first 
was  just  a  name  I  liked.  But  after  a  while  at  the  thought 


26  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

of  the  name  I  saw  a  vision  of  a  tall,  dark,  handsome 
youth.  And  as  I  always  wished  for  a  big  brother  who 
would  take  care  of  me,  I  adopted  him. 

So  real  did  this  imaginary  brother  become  that  when  I 
found  myself  alone  in  the  dark,  trembling  with  fear,  I 
would  call  out,  "Oh,  Ephraim,  where  are  you?"  Then  I 
seemed  to  hear  him  say,  "Ah,  you  little  'fraidcat,  I  knew 
you  would  want  me.  Here,  take  my  hand."  Then  my 
two  hands  would  clasp  each  other  and  I  seemed  to  feel 
safer. 

As  soon  as  the  warm  weather  came  the  women  of  the 
village  gave  all  their  time  and  thought  to  the  work  in 
the  fields.  And  so  now  we  had  no  stockings  to  knit,  no 
sewing,  and  no  pots  for  grandfather  to  mend.  He 
would  often  come  home  from  the  village  with  his  little 
bag  empty  and  sadness  in  his  eyes.  Indeed,  there  were 
many  days  when  we  had  not  enough  even  of  potatoes. 
But  this  hardship  did  not  last  long.  Soon  a  letter  and 
money  came  from  father.  This  was  the  first  letter  from 
America.  Father  did  not  tell  us  much  about  his  life 
out  there.  He  just  said  that  he  was  boarding  with  a  nice 
Russian  Jewish  family  and  that  he  was  already  working 
and  earning  ten  dollars  a  week.  The  rest  of  the  letter 
was  just  good  cheer  and  loving  messages  to  each  one 
of  us. 

Grandmother  kept  the  letter  under  her  pillow  and  soon 
the  writing  was  defaced  by  her  tears. 

One  day  I  managed  to  get  hold  of  it.  I  put  it  into 
my  pocket,  slipped  out  of  the  house,  then  I  took  it  out 
and  looked  at  it. 

It  seemed  to  me  so  wonderful  that  a  letter  posted  in 
America  found  its  way  into  our  little  village. 

"And  this  is  American  paper  and  here  is  an  American 
stamp!  And  no  doubt  father  touched  this  very  stamp 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  27 

with  his  fingers!"  When  I  thought  of  that,  he  did  not 
seem  so  far  away. 

When  winter  came  mother  bought  feathers  to  pick. 
Having  three  daughters  she  said  she  needed  many  pil- 
lows for  their  dowry.  I  liked  picking  feathers,  as  I  liked 
sewing,  not  so  much  for  itself  as  because  it  left  my  mind 
free  to  dream. 

Sometimes  mother  would  let  sister  and  myself  take  our 
bags  of  feathers  and  go  to  visit  our  neighbours.  One 
whom  we  enjoyed  visiting  most  was  Siomka.  She  was 
a  little,  lonely,  old  widow  who  lived  in  a  small  hut  not 
far  away  from  us.  During  the  summer  she  lived  by 
working  in  the  fields  for  neighbours  and  in  the  winter 
she  spun  and  wove. 

To  get  to  her  living  room  we  had  to  pass  her  out- 
house. This  was  a  large  windowless  room,  a  place  I 
used  to  run  through  when  alone,  with  fast-beating  heart. 
But  when  sister  was  with  me  I  was  not  so  afraid. 

Though  she  knew  no  fear  herself,  she  always  seemed 
to  understand.  As  soon  as  we  would  come  to  the  out- 
house door  she  would  slip  her  little  hand,  which  was 
always  warm,  into  mine  and  say,  "Hold  on  to  me!" 
Then  together  we  would  run  through.  Often  by  the  time 
I  found  the  latch  I  was  in  a  cold  perspiration.  But  once 
within  Siomka's  smoke-covered  walls,  I  was  happy. 

By  means  of  a  log  of  wood  we  would  climb  up  on  her 
bed,  which  was  just  some  boards  knocked  together  and 
covered  with  a  sack  of  straw.  And  there  we  would  re- 
main all  afternoon  picking  our  feathers  and  watching 
Siomka  weave. 

I  loved  to  see  the  shuttle  sliding  between  .the  threads, 
and  hear  the  rhythmical  sound  of  the  loom.  Often 
Siomka  would  stop  her  weaving  and  stoop  down  to  pat 
the  pink  snout  of  her  wee  pig.  At  her  touch  he  would 


28 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

blink  his  tiny  eyes,  wag  his  little  tail,  and  grunt  softly. 

The  first  time  we  saw  the  little  pig,  Siomka  told  us 
that  she  received  him  for  some  spinning  she  had  done 
and  that  she  was  feeding  him  up  for  Christmas.  But 
Christmas  came  and  went  and  we  saw  the  little  pig  still 
following  Siomka  about  the  house,  or  lying  curled  up  at 
her  feet  while  she  spun. 

Then  she  told  us  that  she  would  surely  kill  him  for 
Easter.  Easter  noon  while  passing  Siomka's  window  I 
saw  her  eating  black  bread  and  potatoes.  Then  she  came 
out  and  sat  down  on  the  door  step,  and  watched  with 
smiling  eyes  the  little  pig  rolling  in  the  soft  mud  before 
the  hut. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  29 


VIII 

GRANDMOTHER  had  two  children  besides  father,  both 
daughters.  The  elder  was  happily  married  and  lived 
about  two  or  three  days'  journey  from  us.  Whether 
through  indifference  or  because  of  the  distance,  I  do 
not  know,  but  she  never  came  to  see  her  parents  or  wrote 
to  them.  Sometimes  a  traveller  from  her  part  of  the 
country,  passing  through  our  village,  would  stop  at  our 
house  and  give  us  her  greetings. 

The  younger  was  twenty-one  years  of  age  now  and 
was  working  in  Mintck,  a  large  city.  She  left  home  when 
she  was  sixteen  and  being  fond  of  children  she  became 
a  nurse  girl.  As  grandmother  expected  her  to  be  a 
seamstress,  this  choice  of  occupation  caused  grandmother 
as  many  tears  as  father's  becoming  a  tailor  instead  of  a 
rabbi.  For  a  nurse  girl  was  thought  to  be  as  much  below 
a  seamstress  as  a  tailor  below  a  rabbi. 

Father  had  been  in  America  but  a  short  time  when 
grandmother  realised  that  his  emigration  had  lessened 
Aunt  Masha's  prospects  of  marriage.  When  she  came 
to  this  conclusion  her  peace  was  gone.  She  wept  night 
and  day.  "Poor  Masha,"  she  moaned,  "what  is  to  be- 
come of  her?  Her  chances  had  been  small  enough  with- 
out a  dowry.  And  now,  burdened  with  an  aged  father 
and  a  blind  helpless  mother,  the  best  she  can  expect  is 
a  middle-aged  widower  with  half  a  dozen  children !" 

Mother  tried  to  comfort  her  by  telling  her  that  she 
would  remain  in  Russia  as  long  as  grandmother  lived, 
so  that  she  would  not  have  to  live  with  Masha.  But  this 
only  irritated  her.  "You  talk  like  a  child,"  she  wept. 
"You  stay  here  and  wait  for  my  death,  while  my  son,  at 


30  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

the  other  end  of  the  world,  will  be  leading  a  life  of 
loneliness.  And  as  for  me,  would  I  have  any  peace, 
knowing  that  I  was  the  cause?" 

Mother,  seeing  that  she  could  do  nothing  to  comfort 
her,  silently  awaited  results. 

One  night  I  woke  hearing  a  muffled  sound  of  crying.  I 
felt  for  grandmother,  with  whom  I  slept.  But  she  was 
not  beside  me.  Frightened,  I  sat  up  and  peered  into 
the  darkness.  The  crying  came  from  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  And  soon  I  discerned  grandmother  sitting  there. 
With  her  hands  clasped  about  her  knees  and  her  face 
buried  in  her  lap  she  sat  rocking  gently  and  weeping. 

I  called  to  her  in  a  whisper  to  come  and  lie  down,  but 
she  did  not  answer.  For  a  while  I  sat  trembling  with 
cold  and  fear.  Then  I  slipped  far  back  under  the  warm 
comforter  and  tried  to  sleep.  But  the  picture  of  grand- 
mother sitting  alone  in  the  dark  and  cold  haunted  me. 
And  so  again  I  arose. 

Creeping  over  to  her  quickly  I  curled  up  close  to  her 
and  put  my  arms  around  her  cold,  trembling  form.  At 
first  she  did  not  take  any  notice  of  me.  But  after  a  few 
minutes  she  lifted  her  head  and  unclasping  her  hands, 
she  drew  me  under  her  shawl,  saying  as  she  laid  her  wet 
face  against  mine,  "Oh,  you  little  mouse,  how  you  do 
creep  up  to  one!  But  you  had  better  go  back  to  your 
place  or  you  will  catch  cold." 

When  I  went  back  and  as  grandmother  tucked  me 
in,  I  asked  her  why  she  cried  so.  "Never  mind,  you  little 
busybody,"  she  said,  "go  to  sleep."  But  I  teased  her  to 
tell  me.  And  finally  she  said  with  a  sigh  and  speaking 
more  to  herself  than  to  me,  "It  is  about  Masha.  Go  to 
sleep  now,  you  will  hear  all  about  it  to-morrow." 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  gently  patting 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  31 

my  shoulder,  as  she  had  often  done  when  I  was  a  little 
child.  Soon  I  fell  asleep. 

The  next  day  the  rings  under  her  eyes  were  darker,  and 
her  eyelids  were  more  red  and  swollen  than  usual.  But 
otherwise  she  seemed  more  calm  than  she  had  been  for 
a  long  time. 

After  dinner  she  said  to  mother,  hesitating  at  every 
word  as  she  spoke,  "You  know,  I  decided  last  night,  that 
when  you  go  to  America  Masha  should  go  with  you." 
This  startled  mother  so  that  she  almost  dropped  the  baby 
whom  she  was  swinging  on  her  foot. 

"What  are  you  saying  ?  Masha  go  to  America  and  you 
left  here  alone?" 

"Yes,  alone,"  she  sighed,  "as  if  I  never  had  any  chil- 
dren. But  so  it  must  be.  True,  I  have  not  had  a  happy 
life.  But  happy  or  not  I  have  lived  it.  And  now,  it  is 
almost  at  an  end.  But  Masha  has  just  begun  to  live,  and 
in  America  she  will  have  a  better  chance,  for  there  are 
fewer  women  there,  they  say.  As  for  me,  I  shall  not 
be  without  comfort  in  my  last  days.  When  I  am  lonely, 
I  shall  think  of  her  happily  married  and  surrounded  by 
dear  little  children  like  yours.  And  now  listen  to  this 
plan.  Of  course  I  can  not  be  left  here  alone,  though  my 
needs  are  few.  And  so  before  you  start  for  America  you 
will  take  me  to  my  niece  in  the  city.  She  is  a  very  pious 
woman  and  so  I  am  sure  she  will  give  me  a  little  space 
in  some  corner  of  her  house.  Of  course  you  will  pay 
her  for  a  year  of  my  board.  And  after  that  perhaps  you 
will  send  her  money.  But  I  hope  it  won't  be  necessary. 
Indeed,  I  feel  that  I  won't  trouble  this  world  much 
longer." 

Mother  tried  to  dissuade  her  from  this  plan  but  she 
turned  a  deaf  ear  and  insisted  that  we  write  to  father  at 
once.  And  we  did. 


32  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

About  a  month  passed  before  we  received  an  answer. 
The  letter  was  heavier  than  usual.  And  when  we  opened 
it,  two  yellow  tickets  fell  out  from  among  the  two 
closely-written  sheets. 

"What  is  this?"  we  all  asked  at  once.  "Not  money. 
And  this  writing  must  be  English." 

We  handed  the  tickets  to  grandmother  who  held  out 
her  hand  for  them.  Suddenly  her  hand  began  to  tremble 
and  she  said,  "Perhaps  these  are  steamer  tickets.  Quickly 
read  the  letter." 

After  the  usual  greetings  father  wrote,  "Since  Masha 
is  to  come  to  America  she  might  as  well  start  as  soon  as 
she  can  get  ready.  And  Rahel  had  better  come  with  her. 
I  am  sure  she  can  earn  at  least  three  dollars  a  week. 
With  her  help  I'll  be  able  to  bring  the  rest  of  the  family 
over  much  sooner,  perhaps  in  a  year  or  so.  And  besides, 
now  she  can  still  travel  on  half  a  ticket,  which  I  am  en- 
closing with  the  one  for  Masha." 

Quite  bewildered,  I  looked  at  mother.  Her  lips  were 
opening  and  closing  without  making  a  sound.  Sud- 
denly she  caught  me  into  her  arms  and  burst  into  tears. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  33 


IX 

FOR  many  days  mother  could  not  look  at  the  steamer 
tickets  without  tears  in  her  eyes.  And  even  then  though 
she  tried  to  speak  cheerfully  about  my  going  to  America, 
I  noticed  that  the  anxious  look  which  came  into  her  eyes 
while  the  letter  was  being  read,  never  left  them.  Also  I 
felt  her  eyes  following  me  about  on  every  step.  But  once 
only,  she  gave  way  to  her  feelings  openly. 

One  morning  while  she  was  fastening  the  back  of 
my  dress  I  caught  a  few  disconnected  words,  which  she 
uttered  low  as  though  she  were  speaking  to  herself. 

"Good  Heavens!  child  twelve  years  old — care — her- 
self." Then  came  those  inward  tearless  sobs  and  I  felt 
her  hands  tremble  on  my  back. 

But  grandmother  took  the  news  in  a  manner  that 
astonished  us  all.  When  I  looked  at  her  over  my  moth- 
er's shoulder,  after  the  letter  was  read,  I  saw  her  sitting 
at  the  table  in  her  usual  position.  Her  head  was  bent 
low  and  a  little  to  one  side,  and  her  hands  were  folded  in 
her  lap.  Very  quietly  she  sat,  not  a  word,  not  a  tear 
came  from  her. 

Even  grandfather,  who  never  took  any  notice  of  her 
except  to  scold,  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Well,  Baila!"  he  said.  "Have  you  wept  yourself  dry? 
Or  perhaps  you  have  come  to  your  senses  at  last  and 
realise  how  useless  tears  are.  Remember,  that  you  are 
sending  your  child  away  yourself.  I  can  always  take  care 
of  my  needs  but  you  will  die  in  the  poorhouse." 

Grandfather  and  grandmother  were  always  quarrel- 
ling. Grandfather  claimed  that  she  wept  her  eyes  out. 
And  grandmother  said  that  all  her  troubles  came  because 


34  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

of  his  impiety.  But  when  I  grew  older  I  learned  that 
there  was  a  deeper  reason  for  their  quarrels. 

As  a  rule  when  grandfather  scolded,  grandmother 
would  retort  with  great  spirit.  But  this  time  it  was  as 
if  she  did  not  hear  him. 

She  called  me  and  dictated  a  letter  to  Aunt  Masha,  to 
come  home  at  once.  Then  she  went  to  her  trunk  and 
took  out  the  ball  of  fine  linen  thread  which  she  had  been 
saving  for  years.  And  while  starting  a  pair  of  stockings 
for  Aunt  Masha  I  heard  her  figuring  quietly,  what  we 
would  need  for  the  journey,  how  long  it  would  take  us 
to  get  ready,  and  what  day  we  would  start. 

As  for  me,  I  became  suddenly  a  very  important  per- 
son. At  home  I  was  looked  upon  as  a  guest.  Now 
mother  never  pressed  me  to  do  any  work.  On  the  con- 
trary, as  soon  as  I  would  start  to  do  something,  she 
would  say, 

"Run  out  and  play,  you  will  work  hard  enough 
pretty  soon."  Neither  did  I  find  it  necessary  to  feign 
illness  as  I  had  often  done  before  that  I  might  be  fondled 
and  caressed.  No,  indeed;  now  mother  would  often  put 
baby  down  to  take  me  on  her  lap. 

And  the  young  women  of  the  village,  who  never  took 
any  notice  of  me  before,  would  stop  to  speak  to  me. 

One  day,  at  sundown,  I  sat  on  our  gate  munching  a 
bit  of  carrot,  and  watching  the  red  sun  disappearing 
gradually  behind  the  treetops,  when  I  became  aware  of 
some  one  standing  in  back  of  me.  I  turned  around  and 
saw  Miriam.  She  was  a  pretty,  gipsy-like  young  woman 
whose  dark  eyes  always  looked  moist  and  a  little  red  as 
though  she  had  just  been  crying. 

"So  you  are  going  to  America,"  she  said,  looking  at 
me  wistfully,  "you  are  very  fortunate.  Of  course  you 
are  too  young  to  realise  it  now  but  you  will,  later,  when 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 35 

you  grow  older  and  think  of  this."  She  pointed  to 
Siomka's  half -tumbled  hut,  and  the  little  pig  who  stood 
at  the  door  and  squealed  to  be  let  in. 

"No,"  she  continued,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "your  life 

won't  be  wasted  like ."  Here  Siomka's  little  pig 

squealed  louder  than  ever  and  Miriam  turned  suddenly 
and  went  away.  I  sat  for  a  long  while  wondering  what 
the  last  word  might  have  been.  Then  I  jumped  down 
from  the  gate  and  ran  into  the  house  to  look  at  the 
steamer  tickets,  perhaps  for  the  tenth  time  that  day. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  considered  myself  fortunate 
in  going  to  America  or  not.  But  I  do  remember  that 
when  I  convinced  myself,  by  looking  at  the  tickets  often, 
that  it  was  not  a  dream  like  many  others  I  had  had,  that 
I  would  really  start  for  America  in  a  month  or  six 
weeks,  I  felt  a  great  joy.  Of  course  I  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  this  joy.  I  saw  that  mother  was  unhappy. 
And  grandmother's  sorrow,  very  awful,  in  its  calmness, 
was  double  now.  For  I  felt  that  I  was  almost  as  dear  to 
her  as  Aunt  Masha. 

When  a  week  passed  we  cleaned  the  house  as  thor- 
oughly as  if  it  were  for  Easter,  in  honour  of  Aunt 
Masha's  coming. 

During  the  five  years  that  she  had  been  away  she  vis- 
ited us  twice.  The  last  time  had  been  three  years  before. 
And  so  we  were  all  excited  and  eager  to  see  her. 

As  the  days  passed  and  the  time  drew  near  for  her 
coming,  grandmother  became  so  impatient  and  nervous 
that  she  would  jump  at  the  least  outdoor  sound,  asking 
excitedly, 

"What  is  that  ?  I  think  I  hear  the  rumbling  of  wheels. 
Isn't  that  some  one  coming?"  Then  we  would  all  rush 
to  the  door  and  windows  and  find  that  it  was  only  a  cart 


36 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

passing  on  the  road,  or  a  pig  scratching  his  back  against 
the  sharp  corner  of  the  house. 

One  day  we  really  heard  a  cart  drive  up  to  the  door. 
When  we  ran  out  we  saw  a  small,  plump,  pretty  young 
woman  in  a  brown  dress  jump  lightly  to  the  ground. 
"Oh,  grandmother,  quickly  come,  it  is  Aunt  Masha." 
In  a  moment  grandmother  tumbled  out  of  bed,  but  be- 
fore she  could  reach  the  door  she  was  in  Aunt  Masha's 
arms.    And  for  a  while  there  was  sobbing  in  every  cor- 
ner of  the  room. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  37 


WE  children  scarcely  knew  Aunt  Masha.  All  I  re- 
membered of  her  two  visits,  was  that  both  times  she  had 
come  to  stay  a  month,  but  went  away  at  the  end  of  a 
week,  and  that  we  felt  depressed  afterwards,  and  grand- 
mother cried  for  days  and  days. 

And  so  it  was  only  now  that  we  began  to  know  her. 
When  she  had  been  home  a  short  time  we  found  that 
she  was  affectionate,  but  also  severe,  and  hot-tempered. 
If  we  did  not  obey  her  promptly  she  scolded  severely,  or 
worse  still,  stopped  speaking  to  us.  Aunt  Masha  was 
also  a  painfully  clean  person  and  spent  a  great  deal  of 
time  in  washing  us.  Brother,  whose  skin  was  dark,  often 
appeared,  after  she  was  through  with  him,  with  his  neck 
red  and  tears  in  his  eyes. 

But  the  greatest  trouble  was  caused  by  Aunt  Masha's 
personal  belongings.  Nothing  of  hers  must  be  touched. 
And  as  we  were  very  curious  about  things  that  came 
from  the  city  there  was  a  world  of  trouble. 

One  morning  I  arose  earlier  than  usual.  All  were 
asleep  except  mother  and  grandfather,  who  were  out. 
As  I  passed  Aunt  Masha's  bed  I  was  attracted  by  her 
little  shoes  which  stood  close  together  on  the  floor  be- 
side her  bed,  looking  like  two  soldiers  keeping  watch. 
They  were  the  smallest  things  with  high  tops,  pointed 
toes  and  elastic  sides.  Often  I  had  longed  to  try  them 
on.  And  once  I  even  asked  Aunt  Masha  if  I  might.  But 
she  said,  "No,  you  would  burst  them."  Now  as  I  stood 
looking  at  them  and  at  my  own  clumsy  lace  shoes,  made 
by  our  village  shoemaker,  I  thought,  "Yes,  they  would 


38  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

fit.  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  try  them  on,  just  for  a 
moment." 

I  glanced  at  Aunt  Masha's  face.  The  wrinkle  between 
her  eyebrows  was  there  even  now,  and  it  was  saying  to 
me,  "No!"  But  the  lips  which  were  partly  open  show- 
ing the  white  strong  teeth,  seemed  to  smile,  "Yes." 

Very  quietly  I  tiptoed  over  to  the  bed,  took  the  shoes 
and  hastened  to  the  bench  near  the  oven.  My  fingers 
trembled  so,  that  I  could  not  open  my  laces.  They  be- 
came knotted  and  it  took  me  a  long  time  to  break  them 
open.  But  at  last  my  shoes  were  off. 

I  remember  how  rapidly  my  heart  beat  when  I  began 
to  draw  one  of  hers  on.  I  thought,  "If  it  does  not  go 
on  easily,  I  won't  force  it."  But  it  did,  and  felt  com- 
fortable. And  the  elastic  fitted  snugly  around  the  ankles. 
With  a  feeling  of  pleasure  I  stepped  down  on  the  floor  to 
see  how  much  taller  I  looked  with  high  heels.  As  I 
stood  up  I  glanced  anxiously  toward  Aunt  Masha's  bed. 
What  I  saw  sent  the  blood  rushing  to  my  face. 

She  was  sitting  up  in  bed  looking  as  though  she  saw 
a  ghost. 

"I  suppose  you  have  burst  them.  I  told  you  not  to 
put  them  on,"  she  said  and  frowned.  This  frown  brought 
back  my  earliest  recollections  of  her.  I  remembered  how 
I  feared  it.  Now  as  I  stood  looking  at  her  it  deepened 
and  deepened  until  it  seemed  to  darken  her  whole  face, 
and  reminded  me  of  an  angry  cloud. 

Quickly  I  took  off  her  shoes,  put  them  near  her  bed 
and  ran  from  her  as  from  an  approaching  storm. 

Outside  I  met  mother,  who  saw  that  something  had 
happened,  the  minute  she  looked  at  me.  When  I  told 
her  she  scolded. 

"You  should  not  have  tried  on  the  shoes  when  you 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  39 

were  told  not  to  do  it.  Now  I  think  you  had  better  go 
and  apologise." 

I  had  never  apologised  in  my  life.  In  the  days  when 
I  was  given  the  choice  between  apologising  and  a  spank- 
ing, I  always  chose  the  spanking.  Now  when  I  knew 
that  no  spanking  was  coming  I  certainly  refused  to  do  it. 
But  mother  coaxed  and  begged,  and  reasoned, 

"You  are  going  out  into  the  wide  world  alone,  among 
strangers.  Don't  harden  your  heart  against  your  only 
friend.  Oh,  how  I  wish  you  had  more  sense!"  She 
turned  away  and  cried  like  a  little  child. 

I  was  miserable.  The  very  thought  of  apologising 
made  my  face  burn.  But  here  stood  mother  crying. 

"I  won't  have  many  more  chances  of  pleasing  her,"  I 
thought. 

"Mother,  I'll  apologise,  but — not  now,"  I  begged. 
She  turned  to  me.  "That  is  a  dear  child,"  she  said,  look- 
ing brighter,  "but  if  you  do  it  at  all,  do  it  now." 

"What  shall  I  say?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  just  say  you  are  sorry  you  disobeyed." 

We  went  into  the  house.  Aunt  Masha  was  dressed 
and  stood  at  the  window,  combing  out  her  beautiful 
brown  hair.  It  fell  all  about  her,  covering  almost  half  of 
her  small  body.  When  she  heard  the  door  close  she  parted 
her  hair  in  front,  as  if  it  were  a  curtain,  and  looked.  She 
dropped  it  quickly  when  she  saw  me  and  went  on  comb- 
ing carefully.  Slowly  I  went  over  to  her.  "Aunt 
Masha,"  I  said.  My  voice  sounded  strange  to  me.  Again 
she  parted  her  hair  and  looked  at  me.  I  thought  I  saw 
an  expression  of  triumph  in  her  steel  grey  eyes.  This 
hurt  me.  And  almost  before  I  could  think  I  blurted  out, 
angrily, 

"Aunt  Masha,  I'll  never,  never,  touch  anything  of 
yours  again,  as  if  it  were — swine!" 


40  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Aunt  Masha  fairly  gasped.  And  mother  looked  hor- 
rified. Indeed,  I  was  horrified  myself  at  what  I  had 
done.  I  turned  to  mother  and  tried  to  explain.  But  I 
could  not  make  her  understand  me.  I  was  not  good  at 
explanations  when  I  myself  was  concerned.  Quite  mis- 
erable, I  ran  out  of  the  house  and  wandered  about  in  the 
fields  for  the  rest  of  the  morning. 

Aunt  Masha  did  not  speak  to  me  for  three  days.  Dur- 
ing that  time  when  our  eyes  happened  to  meet,  I  tried  to 
tell  her,  in  a  dumb  way,  that  I  was  sorry.  But  she  al- 
ways turned  her  face  away  quickly.  Once  when  we  met 
near  the  door,  our  shoulders  almost  touching,  I  saw  a 
smile  come  quivering  to  her  lips.  And  so  I  waited,  hop- 
ing she  would  speak  to  me.  But  the  next  moment  she 
frowned  it  down  and  passed  on  as  if  she  did  not  know 
me.  On  the  fourth  day,  at  twilight,  I  came  up  on  her 
so  suddenly,  while  she  was  outside,  that  she  gave  a  little 
scream  of  fright.  I,  too,  was  frightened,  and  caught 
hold  of  her  hand.  And  she  let  it  stay  in  mine. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  41 


XI 

ALL  through  the  Spring,  while  mother,  grandmother 
and  Aunt  Masha  were  sewing  and  knitting  stockings  for 
Aunt  Masha  and  me  to  take  along  to  America,  I  wan- 
dered about  in  the  fields,  restless  and  unable  to  play  at 
anything. 

Early,  while  the  flowers  were  still  heavy  with  the 
morning  dew,  I  would  take  baby,  who  was  a  little  over 
a  year  old,  on  my  back,  tie  him  on  to  me  with  a  shawl, 
so  that  I  could  rest  my  arms  when  they  grew  tired,  and 
start  out  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  children.  For  hours 
we  would  wander  about  like  gipsies. 

More  often  than  anywhere  we  went  to  the  lake,  where 
it  was  very  lively  at  that  time  of  the  year,  as  the  peasant 
women  were  bleaching  their  linens.  There,  sister  and 
brother  would  go  off  digging  for  flagroot.  And  I  would 
put  the  two  little  ones  on  the  flat  rock  near  the  edge  and 
climbing  up  beside  them,  we  would  all  sit  quietly  for  the 
longest  while,  watching,  listening. 

It  was  a  pleasant  spot.  The  clear  blue  water  lay 
quietly  rippling  and  sparkling  in  the  sun.  On  the  edge 
were  the  women  with  red  kerchiefs  on  their  heads  and 
beads  of  many  colours  around  their  necks,  swinging  their 
wooden  mallets  in  unison.  And  the  neighbourhood  rang 
with  the  echoes  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  dense, 
mysterious  looking  forest  across  the  lake.  While  through 
the  air  floated  the  sweet  odour  of  new  wet  linen. 

But  the  time  I  loved  this  spot  best  was  late  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  light  grew  soft  and  the  women  went 
away  to  their  homes.  Then  came  a  peculiar  hush,  and 
yet  there  seemed  to  be  a  thousand  voices  in  the  air  whis- 


42 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

paring  softly.  They  came  from  everywhere,  from  the 
tall  stately  forest  trees  across  the  lake,  the  hazelnut 
bushes,  the  flags  as  the  wind  passed  over  them.  And  the 
lake,  a  deeper  blue  now  in  the  soft  light,  rippled  gently 
as  if  with  laughter.  Sometimes  these  fairy-like  voices 
would  be  lost  for  a  moment  in  the  louder  sound  of  a 
dry  twig  breaking  and  falling  to  the  ground,  the  cuckoo 
of  a  bird  or  the  splash  of  a  fish. 

I  do  not  know  what  effect  this  had  on  the  children. 
It  made  me  unspeakably  happy  and  sad  at  the  same  time. 
I  remember  that  I  used  to  want  to  laugh  and  cry  and  sing 
and  dance,  and  very  often  I  did.  To  dance  I  would  clasp 
hands  with  the  children,  and  we  would  spin  around,  and 
around,  until  we  fell  down  breathless  and  dizzy. 

At  twilight  we  would  start  for  home,  walking  very 
slowly  and  feeling  very  sad  at  the  thought  of  bed  time. 

So  the  Spring  passed. 

As  the  second  of  June,  the  day  for  our  departure  to 
America,  drew  near,  I  stayed  more  in  the  house  and  fol- 
lowed mother  about  more  closely.  Gradually  I  became 
conscious  of  two  things.  One  was  the  fear  of  going 
out  into  the  world.  Just  what  I  feared  I  did  not  know. 
And  the  other  was  regret.  I  had  not  realised  how  dear 
to  me  were  my  people  and  home  until  I  was  about  to 
leave  them.  But  the  one  whom  I  regretted  to  leave  most 
was  grandmother. 

Grandfather  was  not  fond  of  me  and  so  he  cared  little 
about  my  going  away.  And  mother  and  the  children 
I  should  see  again.  But  that  grandmother  cared  I  knew. 
And  I  also  knew  and  she  knew  that  her  I  should  never 
see  again. 

One  day  grandmother  and  I  were  alone  in  the  house,  at 
least,  I  think  we  were  alone.  For  as  I  look  back  now  I 
can  see  no  one  but  the  two  of  us.  I  am  standing  at  the 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  43 

window,  and  she  is  walking  across  the  room,  with  her 
slow,  hesitating  step,  and  her  hands  stretched  in  front 
of  her  for  protection.  Coming  upon  a  bench  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  she  sat  down  heavily,  saying,  with  a 
sigh, 

"It  is  strange,  but  the  room  seems  to  have  grown 
larger." 

"What  is  that  shadow  at  the  window,  Rahel?  Come, 
child,  let  me  lean  on  you.  There,  your  shoulder  just 
fits  under  my  arm.  Do  you  remember  when  you  first 
began  to  lead  me  about?  That  was  when  you  still  called 
yourself  by  name." 

When  we  reached  the  window  she  raised  her  hand, 
shaded  her  eyes  from  the  strong  light  and  stood  quietly 
for  a  while,  looking  out.  Then  she  said, 

"This  must  be  a  beautiful  day.  For  my  eyelids  are 
not  as  heavy  when  it  is  clear." 

"Oh,  grandmother,  it  is  glorious!  There  is  not  a 
cloud  in  the  sky.  And,  that  thing  waving  in  front  of 
the  window,  can  you  make  out  what  it  is?" 

"I  see  a  black,  shapeless  mass.    What  is  it?" 

"It  is  the  wild  apple  tree,  white  with  blossoms." 

"H-m-m —  yes,"  she  said,  meditatively,  "it  was  a  day 
just  like  this." 

"When,  grandmother?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  long  while  and  when  she 
spoke  at  last  her  voice  was  low  and  passionate. 

"When  God  took  my  sight  from  me.  My  eyes  had 
never  been  strong.  One  day  in  the  Spring,  it  was  beau- 
tiful like  to-day,  I  was  digging  in  the  garden,  but  a  little 
while  it  seemed  to  me,  when  I  was  startled  by  a  crash 
of  thunder  so  that  the  very  earth  under  my  feet  seemed 
to  tremble.  I  looked  up.  The  sun  was  gone  and  a  black 
angry  cloud  hung  over  our  house.  Quickly  I  gathered 


44  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

up  the  tools  and  hastened  toward  home.  I  was  but  a 
few  steps  away  when  a  wind-storm  came.  It  rocked  the 
trees,  blew  the  loosened  shingles  from  the  roof,  and 
swept  the  dry  sand  in  a  whirl  before  me.  At  the  same 
moment  I  felt  a  stinging  pain  in  my  eyes  so  that  I  could 
not  see  the  door.  In  darkness  I  groped  about  for  long 
time,  till  I  found  it.  For  twenty-four  hours  I  was  beside 
myself  with  pain.  At  the  end  of  that  time  it  went  away  as 
suddenly  as  it  came.  When  your  father,  who  was  a 
little  boy  then,  untied  the  kerchief  from  my  eyes  I  asked 
him  if  it  were  night. 

"  'Why,  mother/  I  heard  his  frightened  voice,  'it  is 
daylight.  Don't  you  see  the  sun  across  your  bed  ?'  Then 
I  knew." 

She  stood  silent  and  motionless  for  a  while.  Then 
she  said  more  calmly, 

"But  I  must  not  sin.  For  if  God  has  taken  my  sight, 
He  has  given  me  dear  little  grandchildren  who  have  been 
everything  I  wanted.  Ah,  if  I  had  only  been  worthy 
enough  to  keep  them  with  me !"  Here  she  turned  to  me 
suddenly  and  taking  my  face  between  her  cold  soft  hands 
she  said  entreatingly, 

"Rahel,  promise  me  that  you  won't  cry  when  you 
are  starting.  You  hear?  It  is  bad  luck  to  cry  when  one 
is  starting  on  a  journey.  And — I  want  you  to  write  me 
whether  there  are  any  synagogues  in  America." 

"I  promise!" 

Still  holding  my  face  between  her  hands  she  bent  over 
it  and  looked  at  it  intently.  I  saw  a  strained  expression 
come  into  her  face  and  the  eyes  move  about  restlessly 
under  the  heavy  red  lids,  as  though  she  were  trying  to 
see.  Then  came  a  pitiful  moan,  and  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks  and  fell  on  mine. 

What  happened  after  this  I  do  not  remember  until  the 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  45 

very  minute  of  starting  on  the  second  of  June.  And 
even  then,  as  I  look  back  I  can  see  nothing  at  first,  but 
a  thick  grey  mist.  But  the  sounds  I  recall  very  distinctly. 

There  was  Aunt  Masha's  voice  crying,  a  crack  of  a 
whip,  horses'  hoofs  striking  against  stones.  Then  there 
was  a  sudden  jolt  and  I  felt  myself  falling  backwards. 
And  now  I  remember  what  I  saw,  too. 

When  I  rose  I  found  myself  sitting  in  a  straw-lined 
wagon,  with  my  back  to  the  horse.  Besides  me  were 
mother  and  the  baby,  who  were  coming  to  the  city  with 
us,  and  Aunt  Masha  who  was  lying  with  her  face  hidden 
in  the  straw,  crying  aloud. 

I  remembered  grandmother's  warning,  "Nothing  but 
bad  luck  could  come  to  one  who  is  crying  while  starting 
on  a  journey,"  and  felt  sorry  for  Aunt  Masha.  But  as 
we  were  pulling  out  through  the  gate  and  I  saw  grand- 
mother looking  so  lonely  and  forsaken,  as  she  stood 
leaning  against  the  house,  and  when  I  saw  grandfather 
and  the  children  who  stood  at  the  gate,  looking  after  us 
and  crying,  I  could  not  keep  my  own  tears  back,  though 
I  opened  my  eyes  wide  and  blinked  hard. 

We  were  still  but  a  short  distance  from  the  house 
when  I  saw  grandmother  go  in  through  the  open  door, 
and  close  it  behind  her  with  unusual  quickness.  As  she 
was  passing  the  window  I  caught  a  last  glimpse  of  her 
white  kerchief  tied  about  her  head. 

When  we  turned  the  corner  I  could  not  see  grand- 
father's and  the  children's  faces  any  more  but  I  still 
heard  their  voices  carried  over  by  the  wind. 

One  by  one  we  passed  the  dear  familiar  places.  Each 
one  brought  back  sad  and  happy  recollections.  As  I 
looked  at  my  favourite  bush  while  we  were  passing  it, 
I  saw  my  little  make-believe  companions  spring  up  in  it 
one  after  another.  And  among  them  I  saw  the  swarthy 


46  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

face  of  my  imaginary  brother  Ephraim.     I  waved  my 
hand  to  him,  and  then  hid  my  face  on  mother's  shoulder. 
When  I  looked  up  again  the  road  was  unknown  to 
me. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  47 


XII 

WE  were  bound  for  Mintck.  This  was  a  large  city 
about  a  day  and  a  half  hard  travelling  from  our  village. 
There  mother  was  to  see  an  agent  about  smuggling  us 
across  the  border  and  buy  a  few  necessary  things  for 
our  journey. 

As  I  had  been  unable  to  see  mother's  people  before 
going,  we  went  a  little  out  of  our  way  to  stop  with  them 
for  a  few  hours.  Shortly  before  sunset  we  arrived  at 
their  home  which  stood  on  the  outskirt  of  a  small  town. 

Mother's  father  had  been  dead  for  some  years  and 
the  mother  was  living  with  her  four  sons  who  were 
blacksmiths  by  trade. 

As  we  had  to  pass  the  shop  which  was  a  short  distance 
from  the  house  we  stopped  there  first.  All  four  were 
busy  at  the  forge,  at  the  bellows  one  was  swinging  the 
heavy  sledge  and  Uncle  Hayim,  who  was  the  oldest,  was 
shaping  a  piece  of  iron  on  the  anvil.  Seeing  us  he 
stopped  and  came  to  meet  us.  He  kissed  mother  with 
more  than  usual  tenderness,  shook  hands  with  Aunt 
Masha,  and  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  "Well,  well,"  he 
said,  "how  tall  you  have  grown.  But  you  are  only  a 
feather-weight  after  all."  He  laughed  as  he  raised  me 
lightly  on  a  level  with  himself. 

He  locked  up  the  shop  and  we  all  went  to  the  house. 
At  the  door  we  met  grandmother  coming  from  the  barn 
with  a  pail  of  foaming  milk  which  she  almost  spilt  in  her 
surprise  at  seeing  us. 

She  was  as  different  from  my  other  grandmother  as 
a  person  could  be.  She  was  a  strong,  stocky  little  woman, 
so  industrious  and  quick  that  at  times  it  was  hard  to 


48 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

believe  that  there  was  just  one  of  her.  In  telling  stories, 
however,  she  was  like  my  other  grandmother.  Every- 
thing she  saw  and  heard  reminded  her  of  a  story. 

We  started  to  continue  on  our  journey  soon  after  sup- 
per. At  parting  we  all  cried  a  good  deal  and  laughed, 
too,  when  I  refused  to  kiss  my  two  younger  uncles  on  the 
ground  that  they  were  boys. 

"But,"  said  the  younger  and  mischievous  one,  "you 
kissed  me  two  weeks  ago  when  I  was  at  your  home." 

"Then  it  was  different,"  I  said.  I  could  not  explain 
but  perhaps  I  felt  that  in  parting  from  my  childhood 
surroundings  I  parted  from  childhood,  too. 

Uncle  Hayim  lit  the  way  to  the  wagon  with  a  lantern. 
He  held  it  up  high  while  mother  tucked  baby  and  me 
into  the  straw,  between  Aunt  Masha  and  herself. 

I  was  very  fond  of  this  uncle  and  as  I  lay  looking 
at  his  face,  with  the  light  shining  on  it,  I  thought,  "An- 
other minute,  and  I  won't  see  him  any  more.  Perhaps 
I'll  never  see  him  again."  Indistinctly,  through  my  tears, 
I  saw  the  driver  climb  into  the  wagon  and  uncle  jump 
on  the  axle  of  the  wheel.  He  bent  over  me.  "Farewell !" 
he  said.  At  that  moment  his  voice  and  face  were  so 
much  like  my  mother's  that  I  was  struck  with  terror  and 
could  not  breathe  until  I  found  her  hand. 

As  we  jogged  off  I  heard  uncle  calling  after  us, 
"Don't  forget  God."  And  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  frogs 
from  the  neighbouring  swamps  took  up  the  words  and 
croaked,  "Don't  forget  God!  Don't  forget  God!" 

The  road  was  very  uneven,  and  every  time  the  wheels 
passed  over  a  stone  I  heard  Aunt  Masha's  head  bump 
against  the  wagon.  Mother  gave  her  some  more  straw 
to  put  there,  but  she  refused. 

"What,"  she  said,  peevishly,  "is  this  pain  or  any  other 
pain  that  I  have  ever  had,  compared  with  what  my 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  49 

mother  suffers  to-night."  And  so  she  let  her  head  bump 
as  if  that  would  give  her  mother  relief.  For  a  long  time 
I  felt  Aunt  Masha's  body  shaking  with  sobs.  But  by 
degrees  it  grew  quieter,  the  breathing  became  regular, 
and  she  slept.  Then  I  saw  mother,  who  I  thought  was 
also  asleep,  sit  up.  She  took  some  straw  from  her  side 
of  the  wagon  and  bending  over  me  towards  Aunt  Masha 
she  raised  her  head  gently  and  spread  the  straw  under  it. 

Long  after  mother  fell  asleep  I  still  lay  awake.  Every 
nerve  in  my  body  quivered  and  my  eyes  burned.  As  I 
lay  looking  up  into  the  starlit  sky  I  lived  the  day  over 
again.  The  parting  from  home!  "Could  there  be  any- 
thing more  painful  than  parting  from  those  dear  to 
you?"  I  wondered.  "Will  this  ache  in  my  heart  always 
be  there?  And  yet,  how  strange!  It  is  but  a  few  hours 
since  I  have  left  grandmother  and  the  children  and  their 
faces  have  already  become  indistinct,  as  though  I  had 
left  them  a  long  time  ago.  And  so  it  will  be  when  I 
part  from  mother.  Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it !  Sup- 
pose something  happens  now  and  I  could  not  go  to 
America  but  had  to  return  home.  Would  I  be  glad? 
Glad  to  go  back  to  four  smoke-covered  walls?  No!  I 
would  be  disappointed,  more  than  that, — life  would 
hardly  be  worth  living." 

To  what  other  conclusions  I  came  that  night  I  do  not 
remember  distinctly.  But  I  recall  that  gradually  I  be- 
came conscious  of  the  sweet  moist  night  air  passing  over 
my  face  and  the  splendour  of  the  stars  and  was  soothed 
by  their  quiet  light. 

I  slept  until  baby  poked  his  little  nose  under  my  chin  to 
wake  me  at  broad  daylight.  My  first  thought  was,  "I 
am  in  Mintck."  I  had  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to 
being  there.  And  yet  all  I  saw  of  it  was  a  dingy  court- 
yard, a  sunless  room,  a  drosky  and  a  railroad  station. 


50  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

The  dingy  courtyard  we  passed  through  when  we  got 
out  of  the  wagon,  and  the  sunless  room  was  the  home 
of  our  cousins  with  whom  we  stayed  as  long  as  we  re- 
mained in  the  city.  These  cousins  were  the  children  of 
father's  and  Aunt  Masha's  half-brother,  who  had  died 
several  years  before.  Aunt  Masha  knew  them  as  well  as 
she  knew  us,  and  mother  knew  them  too,  but  to  me  they 
were  strangers. 

When  we  came  into  the  room  I  saw  a  small,  dark  young 
man  with  a  pale,  delicate  face,  a  square-shouldered  boy 
of  about  seventeen  and  a  girl  of  my  own  age  with  beau- 
tiful brown  hair  like  Aunt  Masha's. 

I  remember  that  I  kept  in  back  of  mother.  The 
thought  of  being  looked  at  made  me  feel  quite  ill. 

During  the  three  days  that  followed  I  stayed  in  the 
house  and  took  care  of  baby  while  mother  and  Aunt 
Masha  were  doing  their  errands.  There  was  quite  some 
trouble  with  the  agents.  They  found  out  that  we  had 
no  local  passport  and  could  not  get  one.  And  so  they 
demanded  an  unreasonable  sum  of  money  which  mother 
finally  had  to  pay.  And  even  then,  it  was  just  as  likely 
as  not  that  we  would  be  caught  crossing  the  boundary 
and  sent  back. 

"Your  children  had  better  take  along  plenty  of  money," 
the  agent  said  with  a  smile,  while  he  was  pocketing  the 
roll  of  bills,  "for  you  never  can  tell  how  long  they 
might  have  to  wait  in  Hamburg  for  a  steamer."  Mother 
wept,  hearing  this.  There  was  so  little  left  to  take  along. 

I  think  it  was  on  the  second  day  that  the  boy  asked 
Aunt  Masha,  "Why  don't  you  take  Rahel  along  and 
show  her  the  City?" 

"In  these  shoes?"  Aunt  Masha  asked,  looking  at  him 
severely. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  are  going  to  buy  her  shoes, 


"THE  DROSKY  is  AT  THE  DOOR." 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  51 

are  you  not?  Why  not  buy  them  now  and  let  her  go 
along?" 

"Look  here,"  Aunt  Masha  said  with  terrible  calmness, 
"when  I  ask  for  your  advice  you  will  give  it  to  me. 

Until  then ."  The  boy  dropped  into  a  chair  as  if  he 

were  shot.  Then  came  a  peal  of  laughter.  He  laughed 
and  laughed  until  his  whole  body  rocked  and  his  small 
twinkling  blue  eyes  disappeared.  We  all  laughed  with 
him.  And  even  Aunt  Masha  had  to  frown  hard  and 
purse  her  pretty  lips  in  order  not  to  smile. 

On  the  third  morning  Aunt  Masha  bought  me  a  very 
pretty  pair  of  black  patent-leather  slippers  with  two  but- 
tons. I  remember  that  after  I  put  them  on,  I  sat  most 
of  the  time.  I  wanted  to  keep  the  soles  clean.  And  it 
was  only  to  give  baby  the  pleasure  and  myself,  too,  of 
hearing  them  squeak,  that  I  walked  across  the  room. 

In  the  afternoon  mother  sewed  the  money  that  was 
left  into  the  side  lining  of  my  little  underwaist.  "No  one 
will  suspect  it  there,"  she  said.  When  she  was  through 
she  spread  the  waist  out  on  her  knee  and  smoothed 
out  the  creases  with  great  tenderness.  While  putting  on 
the  waist  I  noticed  that  there  were  many  damp  spots  on 
it. 

After  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  do.  Our  new 
wicker  basket  was  ready  and  stood  corded  at  the  door. 
And  there  was  a  small  bag  of  zwieback  and  two  new 
bright  tin  drinking  cups.  I  remember  how  silently  we 
all  sat  waiting  for  five  o'clock,  how  white  mother's  face 
looked,  how  unnaturally  cheerful  Aunt  Masha  seemed, 
how  attentive  the  boy  was  to  all  of  us,  how  rapidly  my 
heart  beat  as  if  I  had  been  running  a  long  distance. 

A  little  before  the  hour  my  pale-faced  cousin  came  in. 
And  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  grew  still  paler  when  he 
looked  at  us  and  said,  "The  drosky  is  at  the  door." 


52  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

I  don't  remember  how  we  left  the  house.  But  when 
we  were  in  the  drosky  I  saw  that  I  had  my  tin  cup  in 
my  hand  and  Aunt  Masha  had  the  bag  of  zwieback  and 
the  other  cup.  We  were  driven  to  the  station  at  a  speed 
that  made  baby's  breath  come  and  go  in  gasps. 

The  platform  was  crowded.  "Here  is  the  train,"  my 
cousin  said.  "Hurry !"  Mother  caught  me  into  her  arms 
with  a  cry  that  made  me  forget  everything.  Half  un- 
conscious now  of  what  was  going  on,  I  held  her  around 
the  neck  with  all  my  strength. 

"A  crowded  train,"  I  heard.  "Hurry!"  And  again, 
"You  will  never  get  a  seat  now,"  and  still  later,  "Oh,  I 
thought  you  were  such  a  brave  girl" — "You  will  miss  the 
train,  Rahel!" 

Some  one  pulled  my  hands  apart.  I  was  lifted  from 
the  back  and  carried  into  the  train.  I  looked  through  the 
window  into  the  crowd  for  mother.  Just  as  I  caught 
sight  of  her  face  the  train  began  to  move.  I  saw  her 
fling  out  her  arms  wildly  and  run  alongside  of  the  train 
for  a  few  steps.  Then  her  arms  dropped  limply  at  her 
sides  and  she  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  swaying  back  and  forth.  Then 
it  grew  dark  as  if  night  had  suddenly  come.  The  tin 
cup  fell  out  of  my  hand.  I  saw  it  lying  on  the  floor  but 
indistinctly  and  the  distance  between  it  and  me  seemed 
immeasurable  and  grew  with  every  instant.  "My  cup," 
I  tried  to  call  and  took  a  step  toward  it.  Then  it  disap- 
peared altogether. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  53 


XIII 

AUNT  MASHA'S  tear-stained  face,  bending  over  me 
anxiously,  was  the  first  thing  I  saw  when  I  regained 
consciousness.  Then  I  found  that  I  was  sitting  in  some 
one's  lap  and  in  my  own  there  were  two  small,  white- 
gloved  hands  clasped  together.  Surprised,  I  looked  over 
my  shoulder  and  saw  under  a  large,  black  hat  a  charming, 
girlish  face.  I  felt  very  much  embarrassed  and  tried  to 
stand  up  at  once.  But  she  spoke  to  me  in  a  quiet,  sooth- 
ing voice  and  at  the  same  time  she  drew  me  toward  her 
so  gently  and  so  gradually  that  I  was  scarcely  conscious 
of  it  until  I  felt  my  back  resting  against  her,  and  my 
head  on  her  shoulder. 

We  travelled  for  about  an  hour  when  she  stood  up.  She 
put  me  on  her  seat,  nodded  to  Aunt  Masha,  who  was  also 
sitting  by  that  time,  and  went  to  the  door.  When  the 
train  stopped  she  looked  at  me  with  a  smile,  blew  a  kiss 
from  her  finger  tips,  and  was  gone. 

In  wonder  and  regret  I  sat  staring  at  the  door  until  I 
heard  Aunt  Masha  whisper  half  severely,  half  entreat- 
ingly,  "Rahel,  do  stop  staring  so.  You  seem  to  think 
you  are  still  in  the  woods." 

We  were  in  the  train  two  or  three  days.  When  we 
made  long  stops  Aunt  Masha  used  to  leave  me  in  the 
train  and  go  to  get  food  and  drink.  I  remember  the 
first  time  she  went  out  I  was  trembling  with  fear  lest 
the  train  should  go  off  before  she  returned.  Each  time 
she  went  out  I  would  get  as  near  a  window  as  possible 
and  stand  ready  to  jump  out  in  case  the  train  started. 

I  do  not  remember  how  or  when  we  left  the  train,  or 
how  about  twenty-five  of  us,  two  young  men  and  the 


54  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

rest  women  and  very  small  children,  came  to  be  travelling 
in  a  large,  canvas-covered  wagon,  on  a  country  road 
white  with  the  heat  and  dust.  The  first  thing  I  recall  see- 
ing was  one  of  the  young  men  bent  almost  double,  so  as 
not  to  strike  his  head  against  the  roof,  coming  toward 
Aunt  Masha  and  me,  who  sat  in  the  back.  He  sat  down 
in  front  of  Aunt  Masha  and  looked  at  her  with  a  grin 
which  made  the  tip  of  his  long,  thin-hooked  nose  and  red, 
bristling  moustache  touch. 

"You  are  a  pretty  girl,"  he  said,  beginning  to  twirl  his 
moustache  and  looking  at  her,  through  half-closed,  blood- 
shot eyes.  Aunt  Masha  blushed  painfully  and  turned 
her  head  away. 

"Oh,  come,  look  this  way,"  he  coaxed,  catching  hold 
of  her  hands.  Aunt  Masha  grew  angry.  At  the  same 
time  I  saw  that  she  was  trying  to  control  herself  and 
take  the  whole  thing  as  a  joke  while  struggling  to  free 
her  hands. 

I  was  furious.  To  see  this  stranger  touch  her,  and 
look  at  her  which  seemed  to  hurt  her  more  than  if  she 
were  struck,  was  so  awful  to  me  that  I  could  not  stand 
it.  "Let  go  her  hand." 

"I  won't,"  he  laughed  and  made  a  vulgar  remark  at 
which  some  of  the  women  tittered.  But  others  called 
out,  "Oh,  shame,  to  speak  so  to  a  child." 

"Will  you  let  go  her  hand?"  I  was  hardly  able  to 
speak  now  in  my  anger.  He  glanced  at  me  and  I  saw 
that  he  was  amused  and,  as  if  to  carry  the  fun  still 
further,  he  drew  Aunt  Masha's  face  to  his  own.  Then 
I  lost  my  head.  I  jumped  up  and  began  to  strike  at  him 
blindly  with  both  fists. 

He  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  he  did  not  seem  to 
realise  at  first  what  was  happening  to  him.  Finally  he 
let  her  go  and  jumping  up  he  caught  hold  of  me.  Aunt 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  55 

Masha  screamed  and  the  women  interfered.  He  flung 
me  down  into  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  and  looked  around 
at  the  women. 

"The  little  fury,"  he  gasped,  "who  would  have  ex- 
pected it  of  her?  She  looked  as  quiet  as  a  mouse." 

I  was  surprised  myself  at  my  daring,  but  I  was  not 
sorry. 

From  that  hour  there  was  no  peace.  Like  a  shadow 
he  followed  us  about  on  every  step.  He  tried  to  be  on 
friendly  terms  with  Aunt  Masha.  I  saw  this  and  so 
seldom  left  her  alone.  He  read  my  mind  and  hated  me. 

Toward  evening  of  that  day  we  came  to  an  empty 
little  log  house  so  much  like  ours  at  home  that  I  could 
not  restrain  a  cry  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  it.  The  roof, 
however,  was  of  shingles  instead  of  straw. 

When  it  grew  quite  dark  a  few  wagons  drove  up  to 
the  door  of  the  hut.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  whisper- 
ing and  disputing  about  which  Aunt  Masha  tried  to  keep 
me  in  ignorance.  Her  idea  was  to  keep  me  from  know- 
ing everything  that  was  unpleasant.  But  her  way  of  do- 
ing it  was  as  unpleasant  as  anything  could  have  been. 
For  it  was  always,  "Rahel,  go  away,  don't  listen !" 

"But  why,  Aunt  Masha?" 

"Why?  Because  I  say  so!"  So  I  would  walk  away 
and  watch  intently  from  a  distance.  I  noticed  that  Aunt 
Masha  did  not  want  to  go  into  a  wagon  with  small 
children.  Nor  did  the  other  women  who  had  none  of 
their  own.  At  last,  after  much  talking  and  swearing  on 
the  part  of  the  drivers,  which  I  could  not  help  over- 
hearing, in  spite  of  Masha's  precaution,  we  were  all 
placed.  I  was  put  flat  on  my  face  between  Aunt  Masha 
and  her  friend,  into  one  of  the  wagons  spread  with  ill- 
smelling  hay.  We  were  covered  up  with  more  of  it, 


56 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

heads  and  all,  then  drove  off,  it  seemed  to  me,  each 
wagon  in  a  different  direction. 

We  might  have  been  driving  for  an  hour,  though  it 
seemed  much  longer  for  I  could  hardly  breathe,  when  I 
heard  the  driver's  hoarse  whisper,  "Remember,  people, 
you  are  not  to  make  a  sound,  nor  move  a  limb  for  the 
next  half  hour." 

Soon  after  this  I  heard  a  rough  voice  in  Russian,  "Who 
is  there?" 

"It  is  Mushka,"  our  driver  answered. 

"What  have  you  in  the  wagon?"  the  Russian  de- 
manded. 

"Oh,  just  some  bags  of  flour,"  Mushka  answered. 

I  felt  a  heavy  hand  laid  on  my  back.  At  that  moment 
it  dawned  on  me  that  we  were  stealing  across  the  border. 
My  heart  began  to  thump  so  that  I  was  sure  he  heard  it. 
And  in  my  fear  I  began  to  pray.  But  I  stopped  at  once, 
at  a  pinch  from  Aunt  Masha  and  a  nudge  from  her 
friend.  Then  I  heard  the  clink  of  money.  At  last  the^ 
rough  voice  called  out  loudly,  "Flour?  Go  ahead." 

As  we  started  off  again  I  heard  the  crying  of  children 
in  the  distance,  and  shooting. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  57 


XIV 

ONE  day,  I  don't  remember  how  soon  after  we  crossed 
the  border,  we  arrived  in  Hamburg.  We  stopped  in  a 
large,  red  building  run  in  connection  with  the  steamship 
company.  We  were  all  shown  (really  driven)  into  a 
large  room  where  many  dirty,  narrow  cots  stood  along 
the  walls.  Aunt  Masha  shivered  as  she  looked  at  the 
one  in  which  we  two  were  to  sleep. 

"The  less  we  stay  in  these  beds  the  better,"  she  said. 
So,  although  we  were  dead  tired  we  went  to  bed  quite 
late.  But  before  we  were  on  our  cot  very  long  we  saw 
that  sleep  was  out  of  the  question. 

The  air  in  the  room  was  so  foul  and  thick  that  it  felt 
as  if  it  could  be  touched.  From  every  corner  came  sounds 
of  groaning  and  snoring.  But  worst  of  all  were  the  in- 
sects in  the  cot.  Acter  battling  with  these  for  some 
time  Aunt  Masha  sat  up. 

"I  feel  I'll  go  mad,"  she  gasped,  clutching  her  hair. 
After  sitting  up  a  while  she  remembered  seeing  a  wagon 
with  some  hay  in  it  under  the  shed  in  the  yard,  and  we 
decided  to  go  there.  We  took  our  shoes  in  our  hands  and 
slipped  out  noiselessly. 

It  was  a  dark  night  and  Aunt  Masha  was  almost  as 
much  afraid  in  the  dark  as  I  was.  With  one  arm  clasped 
about  each  other's  waists  we  groped  about  an  endless 
time,  until  we  crossed  the  yard  and  found  the  wagon. 
Fortunately,  no  one  had  thought  of  sleeping  in  it.  Aunt 
Masha  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  satisfaction  as  she 
nestled  comfortably  into  the  hay.  Soon  she  was  asleep. 

To  me  sleep  did  not  come  so  readily.  My  mind  always 
seemed  more  active  when  I  lay  down  at  night  than  at  any 


58 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

other  time.  And  since  we  had  been  on  the  journey  I 
could  not  sleep  because  of  the  new  and  strange  things 
about  me. 

As  I  lay  thinking,  listening,  I  suddenly  caught  a  whiff 
of  cigarette  smoke.  I  sat  up  quickly  and  peered  into  the 
darkness.  In  the  direction  where  I  knew  the  door  was  I 
saw  a  tiny  light.  My  first  thought  was  to  wake  Aunt 
Masha.  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  must  be  some  one 
like  ourselves  who  could  not  sleep  and  so  came  to  stay 
outside.  But  as  I  sat  watching  the  light  I  saw  that  it  was 
coming  toward  the  shed,  though  very  slowly. 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came  and  soon  I  discerned  a 
tall,  dark  form  coming  along  stealthily.  I  recognised  the 
slow  cat-like  tread.  It  was  he  with  the  red  eyes  and 
grinning  mouth. 

I  was  almost  beside  myself  with  fear  now  that  I  knew 
who  it  was  and  I  pressed  closer  to  Aunt  Masha.  As  he 
stopped  a  short  distance  from  the  shed  and  stood  listen- 
ing, I  coughed  to  let  him  know  that  some  one  was  in  the 
wagon. 

Then  only,  it  seemed  as  if  he  realised  that  the  light 
from  his  cigarette  could  be  seen  and  he  put  his  hand  be- 
hind him.  For  a  minute  or  so  he  stood  still,  listening. 
Then  he  went  away  as  stealthily  as  he  came  and  I  saw 
him  crouch  down  in  a  corner  of  the  yard. 

I  sat  wondering  whether  he  knew  that  it  was  Aunt 
Masha  and  I  that  were  in  the  wagon,  and  whether  he 
would  come  again.  He  did,  after  a  good  while  passed. 
Again  I  coughed  to  warn  him.  But  this  time  he  came 
right  into  the  shed  and  craning  his  neck  he  tried  to  see. 

"Why  don't  you  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep,"  he  whis- 
pered, feigning  friendly  concern.  Now  I  saw  that  he 
knew  us. 

"I  am  not  sleepy,"  I  said,  loudly. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  59 

"But  you  will  fall  asleep  if  you  lie  down,"  he  insisted. 

I  noticed  that  he  looked  around  as  if  he  were  uneasy 
when  I  spoke  loud.  So  I  answered  still  louder : 

"I  am  not  going  to  lie  down.  I  am  going  to  sit  up  all 
night,  and  if  you  don't  go  away  at  once  I'll  shout  and 
wake  the  whole  house."  Then  he  turned  quickly  and 
tiptoed  away,  cursing  under  his  breath. 

At  first  I  thought  I  would  let  Aunt  Masha  sleep  a  while 
and  then  wake  her.  But  when  some  time  passed  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  if  I  could  stay  up  all  night  without 
waking  Aunt  Masha,  no  one  could  ever  again  call  me 
that  hated  name,  "  'Fraid-cat."  So  I  clasped  my  hands 
tightly  in  my  lap  and  sat  watching,  listening.  At  the 
least  sound  in  the  yard  I  felt  my  hair  rise  on  my  head. 
Several  times  Aunt  Masha  moved  restlessly  in  her  sleep. 
Then  I  too,  moved,  half  hoping  that  she  would  hear  me 
and  wake  up.  But  she  slept  on.  At  one  time  it  grew  so 
dark  and  so  cold  that  I  could  not  keep  my  teeth  still  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  night  would  never  end. 

"Oh,  now  I  must  wake  her."  But  at  the  very  thought 
of  it  I  seemed  to  hear,  "Ah,  you  are  a  'Fraid-cat  after 
all."  And  so  I  pressed  my  hand  over  my  mouth  and 
waited. 

At  last  a  faint  grey  light  came  creeping  slowly  into 
the  yard.  With  unspeakable  joy  I  watched  the  house 
loom  out  of  the  darkness,  but  it  was  only  when  the  small- 
er objects  in  the  yard  took  on  their  natural  forms,  and 
people  began  to  come  and  go,  that  I  lay  down. 

My  head  scarcely  seemed  to  have  touched  the  hay 
when  I  heard  Aunt  Masha  say,  teasingly,  "Oh,  you  sleepy 
head,  the  night  is  never  long  enough  for  you.  Why, 
your  eyes  are  actually  swollen  from  too  much  sleep.  Get 
up." 

I  sat  up,  not  knowing  at  first  where  I  was  or  what 


60  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

had  happened.  Then  recollecting  my  experience  of  the 
night  I  wondered  whether  I  should  tell  Aunt  Masha  or 
not.  She  had  never  invited  any  confidence  from  me. 
And  this  particularly  seemed  hard  to  tell.  As  I  sat, 
hesitating,  I  half  saw,  half  felt  the  red  eyes  glaring  at 
me  from  the  doorway.  And  so  I  jumped  out  of  the  wag- 
on and  ran  to  get  washed. 

Our  breakfast,  which  was  boiled  potatoes  and  slices 
of  white  bread,  was  served  on  long  bare  tables  in  a  room 
like  the  sleeping  room.  No  sooner  was  the  food  put  on 
the  tables  than  it  was  gone,  and  some  of  us  were  left 
with  empty  plates.  Aunt  Masha  and  I  looked  at  each 
other  and  burst  out  laughing.  To  see  the  bread  grabbed 
up  and  the  fingers  scorched  on  the  boiled  potatoes  was 
ugly  and  pathetic  but  also  funny. 

"To-morrow,"  Aunt  Masha  said,  "we  too  shall  have 
to  grab.  For  the  money  sewed  in  your  waist  won't  last 
if  we  have  to  buy  more  than  one  meal  a  day  for  a  week." 
But  the  next  day  it  was  almost  the  same  thing.  Going 
hungry  seemed  easy  in  comparison  wth  the  shame  we  felt 
to  put  out  our  hands  for  the  bread  while  there  was  such 
a  struggle. 

Aunt  Masha  managed  to  get  one  slice  which  she  held 
out  to  me.  "Here,  eat  it."  When  I  refused  she  gave 
me  a  look  that  was  as  bad  as  a  blow.  "Take  it  at  once," 
she  said  angrily.  I  took  it.  I  found  it  hard  to  swallow 
the  bread,  knowing  that  she  was  hungry. 

We  stayed  in  Hamburg  a  week.  Every  day  from  ten 
in  the  morning  until  four  in  the  afternoon  we  stayed  in 
a  large,  bare  hall  waiting  for  our  names  to  be  called.  On 
the  left  side  of  the  hall  there  was  a  heavy  door  leading 
into  the  office,  where  the  emigrants  were  called  in  one 
by  one. 

I  used  to  sit  down  on  the  floor  opposite  the  door  and 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  61 

watch  the  people's  faces  as  they  came  and  went  into  the 
office.  Some  looked  excited  and  worried  when  they 
came  out,  and  others  looked  relieved. 

When  our  names  were  called  I  rose  quickly  and  fol- 
lowed Aunt  Masha.  The  clerk  who  always  came  to  the 
door,  which  he  opened  only  a  little,  looked  at  us  and 
asked  our  names.  Then  he  let  Aunt  Masha  go  in  and 
pushing  me  away  roughly  without  a  word  he  shut  the 
heavy  door  in  my  face. 

I  stood  nearby  waiting,  until  my  feet  ached.  When 
Aunt  Masha  came  out  at  last  her  face  was  flushed  and 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  Immediately  she  went  over 
to  her  friends  (she  had  many  friends  by  that  time) 
and  began  to  talk  to  them  excitedly.  I  followed  her  but 
she  stopped  talking  when  she  saw  me.  I  understood  that 
I  was  not  to  listen.  And  so  I  went  away. 

This  went  on  for  almost  a  week.  Each  day  her  face 
looked  more  worried  and  perplexed. 

One  afternoon  the  door  of  the  office  opened  wider  than 
usual  and  a  different  clerk  came  out  holding  a  paper  in 
his  hand.  He  told  us  that  the  English  steamer  for  which 
we  had  been  waiting  was  in.  And  then  he  read  the  names 
of  those  who  were  to  go  on  it. 

I'll  never  forget  Aunt  Masha's  joy  when  she  heard 
that  we  were  to  sail  the  next  day.  She  ran  from  one  to 
the  other  of  her  friends,  crying  and  laughing  at  once. 

"The  scoundrel,"  she  kept  on  saying,  "he  threatened 
to  send  us  home.  He  said  he  had  the  power  to  send  us 
home!"  Then  she  ran  over  to  me  and  in  her  joy  almost 
smothered  me  in  her  embrace. 

I  don't  remember  whether  it  was  on  this  same  day  or 
when  we  were  already  on  the  steamer  that  our  clothes 
were  taken  away  to  be  "steamed."  As  my  little  under- 
waist,  which  still  had  some  money  in  it,  was  also  taken, 


62  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

we  spent  some  anxious  hours.  The  money  was  not 
touched.  But  when  I  looked  at  my  pretty  little  slippers 
I  wept  bitter  tears.  They  looked  old,  and  wrinkled,  and 
two  of  the  buttons  were  off. 

On  the  following  evening  we  sailed  off  in  a  small  white 
boat  We  all  sat  on  the  floor  of  the  deck.  I  dreaded 
crossing  the  ocean  for  I  had  heard  that  the  water  was 
rough.  The  boat  rocked  fearfully,  and  there  was  sick- 
ness and  even  death.  But  when  some  time  passed  and 
I  saw  how  smoothly  and  steadily  the  boat  went  along  over 
quiet  water,  I  felt  relieved.  Then  came  something  of 
gladness.  I  sat  quietly  in  back  of  Aunt  Masha,  watching 
the  full  moon  appearing  and  disappearing  behind  the 
clouds,  and  listening  to  our  fellow  travellers.  Their 
faces,  so  worried  and  excited  for  weeks,  looked  peaceful 
and  contented  as  they  sat  gazing  at  the  moon  and  talking 
quietly  and  hopefully  of  the  future  in  the  new  world. 

"How  beautiful/'  I  thought.  "This  is  the  way  the  rest 
of  our  journey  will  be."  For  in  my  ignorance  I  thought 
that  we  would  sail  all  the  way  across  in  this  little  white 
boat  and  that  the  water  would  always  be  calm,  and  the 
wind  gentle.  When  I  whispered  my  thought  to  Aunt 
Masha  she  smiled  at  me  over  her  shoulder,  a  queer,  mean" 
ing  little  smile,  which  puzzled  me.  In  the  morning  when 
we  came  to  an  enormous  black  and  white  steamer  I  re- 
membered Aunt  Masha's  smile  and  understood  its 
meaning. 

We  were  deathly  seasick  the  first  three  days.  During 
that  period  I  was  conscious,  it  -seems  to  me,  only  part 
of  the  time.  I  remember  that  once  when  I  opened  my 
eyes  I  seemed  to  see  the  steamer  turn  to  one  side  and 
then  disappear  under  water.  Then  I  heard  voices  scream- 
ing, entreating,  praying.  I  thought  we  were  drowning, 
but  I  did  not  care.  Nothing  mattered  now.  On  the 


ALL    DAY    WE    SAT   OR    WALKKD    ABOUT    IN    THE    SUN. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  63 

fourth  day,  I  became  again  interested  in  life.  I  heard 
Aunt  Masha  moaning.  A  long  time  seemed  to  have 
passed  since  I  saw  her  face.  I  tried  to  lift  my  head. 
Finding  it  impossible,  I  lay  quietly  listening,  but  it  hurt 
me  to  hear  her  moaning.  At  last  it  became  so  pitiful 
that  I  could  not  stand  it. 

"I'll  die  if  I  don't  get  a  drop  of  water,"  she  moaned, 
"just  one  drop  to  wet  my  throat." 

And  so  as  I  lay  flat  on  my  face  I  felt  about  for  my 
tin  cup  till  I  found  it.  Then  I  began  to  slip  downward 
feet  first  until  I  reached  the  berth  underneath.  From 
there  I  swung  down  to  the  floor.  As  I  stood  up  the  boat 
lunged  to  one  side  and  I  went  flying  to  the  door  and  fell 
in  a  heap,  striking  my  head  against  the  door  post.  I 
don't  know  how  long  I  had  been  lying  there,  when  I 
heard  the  cabin  door  open  and  a  man's  strong  voice  call 
out,  "Up  on  deck."  I  opened  my  eyes  and  saw  an 
enormous  pair  of  black  boots  and  the  lower  part  of  white 
trousers. 

The  man  stooped  down,  looked  at  me  and  gently 
brushed  the  hair  away  from  my  eyes.  As  I  was  used 
now  to  being  pushed  about  and  yelled  at,  the  kind  touch 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes.  For  the  first  time  since  I 
left  home  I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands  and  wept 
heartily. 

For  a  minute  or  so  he  stood  looking  down  at  me.  Then 
he  picked  up  my  cup,  which  I  had  dropped  in  falling, 
and  brought  me  water.  I  drank  some,  and  pointed  to 
Aunt  Masha.  He  handed  the  cup  to  a  woman  who  came 
tumbling  out  of  her  berth  to  go  up  on  deck.  Then  pick- 
ing me  up  as  if  I  were  a  little  infant,  he  again  shouted, 
"Up  on  deck !"  and  carried  me  off. 

I  had  heard  that  those  who  were  very  sick  on  the 


64 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

steamer  and  those  who  died  were  thrown  into  the  ocean. 
There  was  no  doubt  in  my  mind,  therefore,  that  that  was 
where  I  was  being  carried.  I  clasped  my  arms  tightly 
about  the  man's  neck.  I  felt  sick  with  fear.  He  climbed 
up  a  white  staircase  and  propped  me  up  in  a  corner  on 
the  floor.  Then  he  went  away,  to  fetch  a  rope,  I  thought. 
He  returned  in  a  few  minutes.  But  instead  of  a  rope 
there  was  half  an  orange  in  his  hand.  He  kneeled  down 
in  front  of  me,  raised  my  chin,  showed  me  how  to  open 
my  mouth  and  squeezed  a  few  drops  of  juice  into  it.  A 
good-natured  smile  played  about  his  lips  as  he  watched 
me  swallow.  Three  times  between  his  work  he  went  and 
came  with  the  half  orange,  until  it  was  dry. 

After  a  while  Aunt  Masha  came  creeping  up  the 
steps  on  all  fours,  hugging  our  little  bag  of  zwieback. 

From  that  hour  we  improved  quickly.  All  day  we  sat 
or  walked  about  in  the  sun.  Soon  Aunt  Masha's  little 
round  nose  was  covered  with  freckles  and  my  hair  was 
bleached  a  half  dozen  shades. 

Sometimes  while  walking  about  on  deck  we  passed 
the  man  who  had  fed  me  with  orange  juice.  He  always 
touched  his  cap  and  smiled  to  us. 

A  week  passed. 

One  day,  it  was  the  first  of  July,  Aunt  Masha  and  I 
stood  in  Castle  Garden.  With  fluttering  hearts  yet  pa- 
tiently we  stood  scanning  the  faces  of  a  group  of  Amer- 
icans divided  from  us  by  iron  gates. 

"My  father  could  never  be  among  those  wonderfully 
dressed  people,"  I  thought.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  me 
as  if  I  must  shout.  I  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  smile. 

"Aunt  Masha,  do  you  see  that  man  in  the  light  tan 
suit  ?  The  one  who  is  smiling  and  waving  his  hand  ?" 

"Why,  you  little  goose,"  she  cried,  "don't  you  see? 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  65 

It's  father!"    She  gave  a  laugh  and  a  sob,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

A  little  while  later  the  three  of  us  stood  clinging  to 
one  another. 


PART  TWO 


PART  TWO 


XV 

FROM  Castle  Garden  we  drove  to  our  new  home  in 
a  market  wagon  filled  with  immigrants'  bedding.  Father 
tucked  us  in  among  the  bundles,  climbed  up  beside  the 
driver  himself  and  we  rattled  off  over  the  cobbled  stone 
pavement,  with  the  noon  sun  beating  down  on  our  heads. 

As  we  drove  along  I  looked  about  in  bewilderment. 
My  thoughts  were  chasing  each  other.  I  felt  a  thrill: 
"Am  I  really  in  America  at  last?"  But  the  next  moment 
it  would  be  checked  and  I  felt  a  little  disappointed,  a  lit- 
tle homesick.  Father  was  so  changed.  I  hardly  ex- 
pected to  find  him  in  his  black  long  tailed  coat  in  which 
he  left  home.  But  of  course  yet  with  his  same  full  grown 
beard  and  earlocks.  Now  instead  I  saw  a  young  man 
with  a  closely  cut  beard  and  no  sign  of  earlocks.  As  I 
looked  at  him  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes.  Father 
had  been  the  most  pious  Jew  in  our  neighbourhood.  I 
wondered  was  it  true  then  as  Mindle  said  that  "in  Amer- 
ica one  at  once  became  a  libertine"? 

Father's  face  was  radiantly  happy.  Every  now  and 
then  he  would  look  over  his  shoulder  and  smile.  But  he 
soon  guessed  what  troubled  me  for  after  a  while  he  be- 
gan to  talk  in  a  quiet,  reassuring  manner.  He  told  me 
he  would  take  me  to  his  own  shop  and  teach  me  part  of 
his  own  trade.  He  was  a  men's  coat  finisher.  He  made 
me  understand  that  if  we  worked  steadily  and  lived 
economically  we  should  soon  have  money  to  send  for 
those  at  home.  "Next  year  at  this  time,"  he  smiled, 

69 


70  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"you  yourself  may  be  on  the  way  to  Castle  Garden  to 
fetch  mother  and  the  children."  So  I  too  smiled  at  the 
happy  prospect,  wiped  some  tears  away  and  resolved 
to  work  hard. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  71 


XVI 

WHAT  I  recall  after  this  is  an  early  morning  when 
we  were  already  established  in  a  tiny  room  with  peacock 
blue  walls  and  a  window  looking  into  a  grey  courtyard. 
There  was  also  a  small  table,  a  chair  and  a  cot  spread 
with  a  red  comforter.  We  were  having  breakfast.  But 
only  Aunt  Masha  and  I  ate.  Father  sat  opposite  us, 
watched  us  dip  our  buttered  roll  into  the  hot  coffee 
and  asked  many  times,  "Is  it  good?"  His  voice  was 
soft  with  pity  and  tenderness. 

"It  is  delicious,"  we  assured  him.  This  was  the  first 
time  in  my  life  that  I  tasted  coffee  and  the  first  time  Aunt 
Masha  and  I  had  had  enough  to  eat  in  a  month. 

Before  leaving  for  the  shop  that  morning  father  told 
me  that  I  should  have  to  stay  at  home  at  least  a  week 
and  "feed  up."  He  said  laughingly  that  I  looked  green 
in  more  than  one  sense. 

So  we  stayed  home.  And  though  we  feared  to  venture 
out  of  the  building  we  did  not  lack  amusement.  Every- 
thing was  new  and  interesting.  To  me  it  was  pure 
pleasure  just  to  stay  in  our  own  room  and  look  and 
examine  our  new  American  furniture,  and  try  to  imagine 
how  mother  and  the  children  would  be  impressed. 

A  great  part  of  the  time  we  stayed  out  on  the  stoop. 
I  was  dazed  by  all  there  was  to  see.  I  looked  with  won- 
der at  the  tall  houses,  the  paved  streets,  the  street  lamps. 
As  I  had  never  seen  a  large  city  and  only  had  had  a 
glimpse  of  a  small  one,  I  thought  these  things  true  only 
of  America. 

One  day  while  Aunt  Masha  and  I  stood  out  on  the 
stoop  we  saw  a  dark  little  man  with  a  red  bandana 


72  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

around  his  neck  and  a  silver  earring  in  his  ear,  wheeling 
what  appeared  to  be  a  queer  looking  box.  And  when  I 
saw  him  stop  and  make  music  come  out  of  it,  and  the 
little  girls  that  followed  and  others  that  joined  begin 
swaying  to  the  rhythm,  their  little  pigtails  flying,  the 
little  faces  alive  with  enjoyment,  I  stood  dumb  with  won- 
der. At  this  even  Aunt  Masha  looked  astonished.  But 
the  next  moment  she  explained  knowingly,  "Don't  you 
see,  he  goes  about  playing  in  the  streets  that  the  children 
may  dance."  That  seemed  very  probable.  I  expected  all 
sorts  of  wonderful  things  of  America,  though  at  home 
I  had  also  heard  things  that  were  sad. 

I  had  heard  one  day  the  mistress  of  the  Inn  and  Post 
Office  talking  of  her  two  sons  in  America.  I  heard  her 
say  that  they  were  machine  operators  and  they  had  lost 
their  feet  at  the  sewing  machine.  I  took  it  literally,  as 
indeed  I  took  everything  else.  So  one  day  when  I  saw 
a  rather  tall  boy  of  about  fifteen  pass  our  door  on  queer 
little  wheels  (roller  skates)  I  could  not  keep  tears 
out  of  my  eyes.  I  thought  that  this  must  be  a  machine 
operator  who  lost  his  feet  at  the  machine.  That  a  boy 
of  that  age  could  go  about  in  open  daylight  on  a  plain 
week  day,  amusing  himself,  would  have  never  occurred 
to  me. 

One  night  father  came  home  from  work  a  little  earlier 
than  usual  and  took  us  to  Grand  Street.  I  was  dazzled 
by  the  lights,  the  display  in  the  jewelry  shops  and  dry 
goods  store  windows.  But  nothing  surprised  me  so  much 
as  the  figures  in  the  hair  dresser's  window.  One  was  a 
blonde,  the  other  a  brunette.  One  was  in  pink,  the 
other  in  blue.  Their  hair  was  beautifully  curled  and 
dressed,  each  one  with  a  mirror  in  one  hand  and  the 
other  held  daintily  on  the  back  of  the  hair,  went  slowly 
turning  around  and  around  and  smiling  into  the  mirror. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  73 

At  first  I  could  not  believe  that  they  were  not  alive 
until  father  and  Aunt  Masha  laughed  at  me.  It  seemed 
to  me  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  to  see  how  perfect  the 
features  were,  the  smile.  And  I  thought,  "Oh,  America 
is  truly  wonderful!  People  are  not  shovelling  gold  in 
the  streets,  as  I  had  heard,  but  still  it  is  wonderful." 
When  I  told  it  to  father  he  laughed.  "Wait,"  he  said. 
And  then  he  took  us  to  "Silver  Smith  Charlie's  saloon" 
and  I  saw  the  floor  studded  with  half  dollars! 

From  Mrs.  Felesberg  we  learned  at  once  the  more  se- 
rious side  of  life  in  America.  Mrs.  Felesberg  was  the 
woman  with  whom  we  were  rooming.  A  door  from  our 
room  opened  into  her  tiny  bedroom  and  then  led  into 
the  only  other  room  where  she  sat  a  great  part  of  the 
day  finishing  pants  which  she  brought  in  big  bundles 
from  a  shop,  and  rocking  the  cradle  with  one  foot.  She 
always  made  us  draw  our  chairs  quite  close  to  her  and 
she  spoke  in  a  whisper  scarcely  ever  lifting  her  weak 
peering  eyes  from  her  work.  When  she  asked  us  how 
we  liked  America,  and  we  spoke  of  it  with  praise,  she 
smiled  a  queer  smile.  "Life  here  is  not  all  that  it  appears 
to  the  'green  horn,'  "  she  said.  She  told  us  that  her  hus- 
band was  a  presser  on  coats  and  earned  twelve  dollars 
when  he  worked  a  full  week.  Aunt  Masha  thought 
twelve  dollars  a  good  deal.  Again  Mrs.  Felesberg  smiled. 
"No  doubt  it  would  be,"  she  said,  "where  you  used  to 
live.  You  had  your  own  house,  and  most  of  the  food 
came  from  the  garden.  Here  you  will  have  to  pay  for 
everything;  the  rent!"  she  sighed,  "for  the  light,  for 
every  potato,  every  grain  of  barley.  You  see  these  three 
rooms,  including  yours?  Would  they  be  too  much  for 
my  family  of  five?"  We  had  to  admit  they  would  not. 
"And  even  from  these,"  she  said,  "I  have  to  rent  one 
out." 


74  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Perhaps  it  was  due  to  these  talks  that  I  soon  noticed 
how  late  my  father  worked.  When  he  went  away  in 
the  morning  it  was  still  dark,  and  when  he  came  home 
at  night  the  lights  in  the  halls  were  out.  It  was  after 
ten  o'clock.  I  thought  that  if  mother  and  the  children 
were  here  they  would  scarcely  see  him. 

One  night  when  he  came  home  and  as  he  sat  at  the 
table  eating  his  rice  soup,  which  he  and  Aunt  Masha  had 
taught  me  to  cook,  I  sat  down  on  the  cot  and  asked  timid- 
ly, knowing  that  he  was  impatient  of  questions,  "Father, 
does  everybody  in  America  live  like  this?  Go  to  work 
early,  come  home  late,  eat  and  go  to  sleep?  And  the 
next  day  again  work,  eat,  and  sleep?  Will  I  have  to  do 
that  too?  Always?" 

Father  looked  thoughtful  and  ate  two  or  three  mouth- 
fuls  before  he  answered.  "No,"  he  said  smiling.  "You 
will  get  married." 

So,  almost  a  week  passed  and  though  life  was  so  in- 
teresting, still  no  matter  where  I  went,  what  I  saw,  moth- 
er and  home  were  always  present  in  my  mind.  Often  in 
the  happiest  moments  a  pain  would  rise  in  my  throat 
and  my  eyes  burned  with  the  tears  held  back.  At  these 
moments  I  would  manage  to  be  near  Aunt  Masha  so 
that  I  could  lean  against  her,  touch  her  dress. 

How  Aunt  Masha  felt  I  never  knew  but  once.  Father 
brought  each  of  us  a  black  patent  leather  belt.  One  day 
she  put  hers  on  and  came  over  to  me.  "Close  your  eyes, 
Rahel,"  she  said,  "and  feel  the  belt  on  me."  I  did.  And 
as  I  passed  my  hand  around  her  waist,  I  said,  "This  is 
how  grandmother  used  to  see  when  we  put  on  something 
new."  When  I  opened  my  eyes  I  saw  that  Aunt  Masha's 
face  was  wet  with  tears. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  75 


XVII 

I  THINK  it  was  at  the  end  of  a  week  that  Aunt  Masha 
received  an  offer  at  her  old  occupation  as  children's  nurse. 
As  it  seemed  to  her  a  desirable  place  and  as  she  wished 
to  begin  at  once  to  pay  off  father  for  her  steamer  ticket, 
she  accepted  it.  So  one  morning  after  father  left  for 
work  a  large  good-looking  woman,  owner  of  a  delicates- 
sen store,  came  for  her. 

All  that  morning  as  she  went  about  the  room  gather- 
ing her  things  and  packing  them  into  a  bundle,  she  was 
flushed  and  excited  and  avoided  meeting  my  eyes. 

When  the  bundle  was  tied  and  she  was  ready  to  leave 
she  came  and  drew  me  towards  her  almost  roughly. 
"Good-bye,  Rahel."  I  felt  her  whole  body  shaking  with 
sobs.  "Remember,"  she  commanded,  "not  to  go  alone 
any  further  than  the  stoop."  And  then  she  added  a  little 
sulkily,  "No  doubt  you  are  glad  to  see  me  go." 

She  took  the  bundle  under  her  arm  and  followed  the 
woman,  and  I  went  out  and  stood  watching  her  until 
she  disappeared  through  the  long,  dark,  narrow  hall. 
Soon  I  could  hear  only  the  click,  click  of  her  high  slender 
heels  on  the  wooden  floor  and  on  the  stone  steps.  From 
the  hall  below  the  click  still  came  up  but  faintly  and  I 
had  to  bend  forward  to  catch  it.  Then  I  heard  the 
street  door  slam,  resound  through  the  building,  and  all 
was  silent. 


76  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XVIII 

DURING  the  first  two  days  that  followed  I  missed  Aunt 
Masha  dreadfully  and  felt  ill  with  homesickness,  lone- 
liness and  even  fear.  While  in  my  room  I  tried  to  find 
the  pleasure  and  interest  of  the  first  days.  But  now  the 
table,  the  cot,  the  chair  were  merely  strange  things  which 
seemed  to  stare  at  me  coldly.  Neither  could  I  stay  out  on 
the  stoop.  I  tried  to  do  so  the  first  day  but  felt  too  timid 
to  go  any  further  than  the  door.  There,  as  I  stood  for 
a  few  minutes,  looking  at  the  people  passing  back  and 
forth,  at  the  houses  across  the  street,  the  feeling  came  to 
me  suddenly  that  I  was  utterly  alone.  "There  is  not  a 
face  that  I  know,"  I  thought.  "Not  a  spot  that  is  familiar 
to  me.  Where  are  father  and  Aunt  Masha  ?"  I  tried  to 
picture  them.  I  saw  many  streets,  rows  and  rows  of 
brick  houses,  crowds  of  people  but  I  could  not  see  their 
faces  anywhere.  With  a  sick  feeling  of  fear  I  shrank 
back  into  the  hall. 

Father  never  knew  how  I  was  troubled.  By  the  time  he 
came  home  at  night  I  was  asleep  or  pretended  to  be. 

One  day,  while  wandering  about  through  the  tenement, 
trying  to  amuse  myself  by  walking  up  and  down  the  steps, 
so  as  not  to  think  of  home,  I  reached  the  top  floor  and 
found  that  there  were  no  more  steps  to  climb.  But  in- 
stead I  saw  an  open  door  which  seemed  to  lead  into  an 
open  space.  I  stepped  over  the  threshold  and  stood  still. 
I  was  not  sure  that  this  place  was  safe  to  walk  upon. 
Then  seeing  that  it  was  large,  square  and  solid.  I  thought 
"It  is  a  floor,  built  on  top  of  a  house." 

I  walked  to  the  centre  and  looked  about.  I  saw  roofs 
and  sky  on  all  sides.  On  some  of  the  roofs  I  was  sur- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  77 

prised  to  see  clothes  on  ropes  fluttering  in  the  wind.  Here 
and  there  from  buildings  standing  out  among  the  rest,  I 
saw  flags  waving.  But  what  I  looked  at  with  joy  after 
a  momentary  glance  at  these,  was  the  sky!  It  was  like 
finding  unexpectedly  some  one  dear  from  home.  I  sat 
down  on  the  door  step  in  the  shade  and  looked  at  the 
sky  and  thought: 

"The  sky  is  the  same  everywhere.  There  is  only  one. 
Perhaps  mother,  too,  sister  or  some  one  at  home  is  look- 
ing at  it  at  this  very  moment." 

This  thought  made  home  seem  a  little  nearer.  Then 
I  remembered  grandmother  saying : 

"When  it  is  day  in  America  it  is  night  in  Russia." 

"Oh,"  I  thought,  "so  they  are  asleep  now!" 

In  a  moment  I  was  far  away  from  Cherry  Street.  I 
was  in  our  log  house.  I  stopped  at  mother's  bed.  I 
looked  at  the  children  sleeping  at  the  foot  of  it.  I  peeped 
into  the  cradle.  I  passed  close  to  grandfather's  bench  near 
the  stove.  I  stopped  at  grandmother's  bed  and  looked 
at  the  empty  place  which  was  mine. 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  of  some  one  standing  back 
of  me.  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  and  saw  Mrs.  Feles- 
berg  with  baby  in  her  arms.  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  tears 
and  hid  my  face  in  my  hands.  She  did  not  say  anything 
but  sat  down  on  the  step  close  to  me,  put  her  arm  around 
me  and  gently  drew  me  towards  her  until  my  face  rested 
in  her  lap  beside  baby's  small  cheek. 

From  that  day  the  baby  became  a  great  comfort  to 
me.  I  amused  him,  rbcked  him  and  carried  him  about  in 
my  arms  when  he  cried.  Often  as  I  walked  up  and  down 
the  floor  with  him,  singing  him  to  sleep,  he  sent  his  little 
hand  out,  and  caressed  my  face.  The  touch  of  the  tiny 
fingers  on  my  eyes  would  make  me  feel  less  lonely. 

When  Saturday  came  I   felt  happy  because  father 


78  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

stayed  at  home.  After  dinner  we  went  out  into  the  street. 
I  walked  beside  father,  clasping  his  hand  tightly.  I 
looked  about  and  wondered  how  people  could  find  their 
way  without  seeming  to  think  about  it.  All  the  streets, 
all  the  houses,  seemed  so  very  much  alike. 

Father  stopped  at  a  fruitstand  and  told  me  to  choose 
what  I  wanted.  There  was  nothing  strange  to  me  in 
that.  At  home  when  we  sold  fruit,  as  we  did  sometimes 
during  the  summer,  Jewish  people  came  on  Saturday  to 
eat  apples  or  pears  for  which  they  paid  the  following 
week.  So  I  thought  it  was  the  same  here. 

I  looked  and  looked  at  the  fruit :  "What  shall  I  take  ?" 
Apples,  oranges,  plums,  pears — all  were  arranged  in  neat 
pyramids,  all  looked  good  and  very  tempting,  surrounded 
by  fresh  green  leaves,  glistening  with  drops  of  water.  I 
looked  at  the  strange  fruits  also.  I  saw  long  finger  like 
things  with  smooth  yellow  skins,  and  grapes  which  I  knew 
by  name  only.  In  a  glass  case  on  a  square  of  ice  there 
were  some  slices  of  watermelon. 

"What  shall  I  take  ?"  I  asked,  turning  to  father.  "Any- 
thing you  like,"  he  smiled  encouragingly.  I  decided  on  a 
slice  of  melon.  I  looked  up  into  father's  face.  I  felt 
proud  of  him  that  he  had  credit  at  so  beautiful  a  fruit- 
stand. 

As  I  received  the  melon  in  my  fingers  I  saw  father 
take  his  hand  out  of  his  pocket  and  hold  out  a  coin.  I 
felt  the  blood  rush  to  my  face.  I  stood  staring  at  him 
for  a  moment.  Then  I  dropped  the  melon  on  the  pave- 
ment and  ran.  Before  I  had  taken  many  steps  I  realised 
that  I  was  running  away  from  home  and  turned  back. 
In  passing  the  stand  I  did  not  look  to  see  if  father  was 
still  there  but  ran  on. 

"My  father  has  touched  coin  on  the  Sabbath!" 

These  words  rang  in  my  ears.    I  was  almost  knocked 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  79 

over  by  people  into  whom  I  ran  but  I  paid  no  attention. 
Others  stopped  to  watch  me  curiously  as  I  ran  by.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  it  was  because  they  knew  what  I  had 
just  seen  and  I  ran  on  with  my  cheeks  flaming. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  been  running  a 
long  while  and  I  felt  that  I  should  be  near  home.  I 
stopped  and  looked  about,  but  I  could  not  see  the  house 
anywhere.  I  ran  further,  looking  about  wildly  and  try- 
ing to  remember  things  so  as  to  locate  myself.  Suddenly 
I  came  upon  a  dressmaker's  sign  which  I  recognised.  I 
hurried  into  my  room,  closed  the  door  carefully,  and 
threw  myself  down  on  the  cot,  burying  my  face  into  the 
pillow. 

"Father  carries  money  about  with  him  on  the  Sabbath. 
Oh,  the  sin!  Oh,  poor  grandmother,"  I  thought,  "how 
would  she  feel  if  she  knew.  Brother  is  only  seven  years 
old  and  already  he  is  so  pious  that  he  wishes  to  remain 
with  a  learned  Jew  in  Russia,  after  mother  goes  to  Amer- 
ica, that  he  may  become  a  great  Rabbi.  How  would  he 
feel  ?  How  would  they  all  feel  ?" 

Then  I  remembered  Yanna,  who,  on  hearing  that  fath- 
er was  in  America,  and  feeling  that  perhaps  we  were  too 
happy  over  it,  came  one  day  to  torment  grandmother. 

"The  first  thing  men  do  in  America,"  she  had  said,  "is 
cut  their  beards  and  the  first  thing  the  women  do  is  to 
leave  off  their  wigs.  And  you,"  she  had  said,  turning 
to  me  venomously,  "you  who  will  not  break  a  thread  on 
the  Sabbath  now,  will  eat  swine  in  America." 

"Oh,  God,"  I  thought,  "will  it  really  come  to  that? 
shall  I  eat  swine?" 

After  what  I  had  just  seen  nothing  seemed  impossible. 
In  utter  misery  I  turned  and  felt  about  with  my  burning 
cheek  for  a  cooler  place  on  the  pillow.  As  I  did  so  I  re- 


8o OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

membered  that  the  pillow  was  one  which  mother  gave  me 
from  home.  I  slipped  my  arms  under  it  and  pressing  my 
lips  to  it  I  wept  "No,  I  shall  not  eat  swine,  indeed  I 
shall  not  I" 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  81 


XIX 

ON  the  following  day  father  came  home  at  noon  and 
took  me  along  to  the  shop  where  he  worked.  We  climbed 
the  dark,  narrow  stairs  of  a  tenement  house  on  Monroe 
Street  and  came  into  a  bright  room  filled  with  noise.  I 
saw  about  five  or  six  men  and  a  girl.  The  men  turned 
and  looked  at  us  when  we  passed.  I  felt  scared  and 
stumbled.  One  man  asked  in  surprise : 

"Avrom,  is  this  your  daughter?  Why,  she  is  only  a 
little  girl!" 

My  father  smiled.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "but  wait  till  you 
see  her  sew." 

He  placed  me  on  a  high  stool  opposite  the  girl,  laid  a 
pile  of  pocket  flaps  on  the  little  narrow  table  between 
us,  and  showed  me  how  to  baste. 

All  afternoon  I  sat  on  my  high  stool,  a  little  away  from 
the  table,  my  knees  crossed  tailor  fashion,  basting  flaps. 
As  I  worked  I  watched  the  things  which  I  could  see  by 
just  raising  my  eyes  a  little.  I  saw  that  the  girl,  who 
was  called  Atta,  was  very  pretty. 

A  big  man  stood  at  a  big  table,  examining,  brushing 
and  folding  coats.  There  was  a  window  over  his  table 
through  which  the  sun  came  streaming  in,  showing  mil- 
lions of  specks  of  dust  dancing  over  the  table  and  circling 
over  his  head.  He  often  puffed  out  his  cheeks  and  blew 
the  dust  from  him  with  a  great  gust  so  that  I  could  feel 
his  breath  at  our  table. 

The  machines  going  at  lull  speed  drowned  everything 
in  their  noise.  But  when  they  stopped  for  a  moment  I 
caught  the  clink  of  a  scissors  laid  hastily  on  a  table,  a 
short  question  and  answer  exchanged,  and  the  pounding 


82  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

of  a  heavy  iron  from  the  back  of  the  room.  Sometimes 
the  machines  stopped  for  a  whole  minute.  Then  the  men 
looked  about  and  talked.  I  was  always  glad  when  the 
machines  started  off  again.  I  felt  safer  in  their  noise. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  woman  came  into  the  shop. 
She  sat  down  next  to  Atta  and  began  to  sew  on  buttons. 
Father,  who  sat  next  to  me,  whispered,  "This  is  Mrs. 
Nelson,  the  wife  of  the  big  man,  our  boss.  She  is  a  real 
American." 

She,  too,  was  pretty.  Her  complexion  was  fair  and 
delicate  like  a  child's.  Her  upper  lip  was  always  covered 
with  shining  drops  of  perspiration.  I  could  not  help  look- 
ing at  it  all  the  time. 

When  she  had  worked  a  few  minutes  she  asked  father 

in  very  imperfect  Yiddish:    "Well,  Mr. ,  have  you 

given  your  daughter  an  American  name?" 

"Not  yet,"  father  answered.  "What  would  you  call 
her?  Her  Yiddish  name  is  Rahel." 

"Rahel,  Rahel,"  Mrs.  Nelson  repeated  to  herself, 
thoughtfully,  winding  the  thread  around  a  button;  "let 
me  see."  The  machines  were  going  slowly  and  the  men 
looked  interested. 

The  presser  called  out  from  the  back  of  the  room: 
"What  is  there  to  think  about?    Rahel  is  Rachel." 

I  was  surprised  at  the  interest  every  one  showed.  Later 
I  understood  the  reason.  The  slightest  cause  for  inter- 
ruption was  welcome,  it  broke  the  monotony  of  the  long 
day. 

Mrs.  Nelson  turned  to  me :  "Don't  let  them  call  you 
Rachel.  Every  loafer  who  sees  a  Jewish  girl  shouts 
'Rachel'  after  her.  And  on  Cherry  Street  where  you 
live  there  are  many  saloons  and  many  loafers.  How 
would  you  like  Ruth  for  a  name?" 

I  said  I  should  like  to  be  called  Ruth. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  83 


XX 

FATHER  made  the  life  for  me  as  easy  as  he  could.  But 
there  were  many  hardships  he  could  not  prevent. 

We  began  the  day  at  six  in  the  morning.  I  would 
stand  dressing  with  my  eyes  closed  and  feel  about  for 
my  buttons.  But  once  I  was  out  on  the  street  and  felt 
the  moist  early  morning  air  I  was  wide  awake  at  once. 

When  we  had  been  in  the  shop  about  an  hour  a  grey- 
bearded  little  old  man  used  to  come  in  lugging  a  big 
basket  of  food  covered  with  black  oil  cloth.  He  was  the 
shop  pedlar.  He  always  stopped  near  the  door,  rested 
his  basket  against  it  and  groaned:  "Oh,  the  stairs,  the 
stairs  in  America !"  The  men  looked  at  him  with  pity  and 
Atta  at  the  sight  of  him  would  sometimes  begin  to  sing 
"The  Song  of  the  Pedlar."  If  the  boss  was  not  in  the 
shop  or  the  men  were  not  very  busy,  one  of  them  would 
take  the  basket  from  the  pedlar  and  place  it  on  a  chair  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  Then  each  shop  hand  picked  out 
a  roll  and  the  little  old  man  poured  him  out  a  tiny  glass 
of  brandy  for  two  cents.  Father  used  to  buy  me  an  apple 
and  a  sweetened  roll.  We  ate  while  we  worked.  I  used 
to  think  two  cents  a  good  deal  to  spend  for  my  break- 
fast. But  often  I  was  almost  sick  with  hunger.  At  noon 
we  had  our  big  meal.  Then  father  would  send  me  out 
for  half  a  pound  of  steak  or  a  slice  of  beef  liver  and  a 
pint  of  beer  which  he  sometimes  bought  in  partnership 
with  two  or  three  other  men.  He  used  to  broil  the  steak 
in  the  open  coal  fireplace  where  the  presser  heated  his 
irons,  and  cut  it  into  tiny  squares.  He  always  picked  out 
the  juiciest  bits  and  pushed  them  to  my  side  of  the  plate, 
and  while  there  was  still  quite  some  meat  he  would  lay 


84  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

down  his  fork  and  push  his  chair  away  from  the  table 
with  an  air  as  if  he  had  had  more  than  enough.  He  also 
got  me  to  drink  beer.  Before  long  I  could  drink  a  full 
glass.  But  I  did  not  like  it.  One  day  it  made  me  quite 
sick.  After  that  I  refused  to  drink  it. 

I  liked  my  work  and  learned  it  easily,  and  father  was 
pleased  with  me.  As  soon  as  I  knew  how  to  baste  pocket- 
flaps  he  began  to  teach  me  how  to  baste  the  coat  edges. 
This  was  hard  work.  The  double  ply  of  overcoat  cloth 
stitched  in  with  canvas  and  tape  made  a  very  stiff  edge. 
My  fingers  often  stiffened  with  pain  as  I  rolled  and 
basted  the  edges.  Sometimes  a  needle  or  two  would 
break  before  I  could  do  one  coat.  Then  father  would  of- 
fer to  finish  the  edge  for  me.  But  if  he  gave  me  my 
choice  I  never  let  him.  At  these  moments  I  wanted  so 
to  master  the  thing  myself  that  I  felt  my  whole  body 
trembling  with  the  desire.  And  with  my  habit  of  per- 
sonifying things,  I  used  to  bend  over  the  coat  on  my 
lap,  force  the  obstinate  and  squeaking  needle,  wet  with 
perspiration,  in  and  out  of  the  cloth  and  whisper  with 
determination:  "No,  you  shall  not  get  the  best  of  me!" 
When  I  succeeded  I  was  so  happy  that  father,  who  often 
watched  me  with  a  smile,  would  say,  "Rahel,  your  face 
is  shining.  Now  rest  a  while."  He  always  told  me  to 
rest  after  I  did  well.  I  loved  these  moments.  I  would 
push  my  stool  closer  to  the  wall  near  which  I  sat,  lean 
my  back  against  it,  and  look  about  the  shop. 

Sitting  so,  I  could  see  Atta  and  all  the  six  men  at  work. 
The  baster  sat,  Turk-like,  on  his  table.  He  was  small  and 
slight.  His  skin  was  almost  as  dark  as  a  negro's  and  his 
features  resembled  a  bull  dog's.  But  his  was  an  unusual- 
ly bright  face.  His  black  eyes  flashed  with  intelligence. 
And  when  he  laughed,  showing  his  white,  even  teeth,  I 
liked  to  look  at  him.  Sometimes  he  would  raise  his  eyes 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  85 

suddenly  from  his  work,  assume  an  earnest  expression, 
open  his  eyes  wide  and  look  at  me  intently.  Then  I 
would  know  that  I  had  been  staring. 

The  boss  moved  about  heavily  at  his  big  table.  I  could 
not  help  looking  at  him  when  he  spoke  or  laughed, — his 
nostrils  always  dilated  and  whitened.  He  often  came 
over  to  our  table  to  borrow  Atta's  wax  or  small  scissors. 
Almost  every  time  he  came  he  tried  to  pinch  her  cheek 
or  take  hold  of  her  hand.  She  always  dodged,  threatened 
him  with  the  point  of  her  needle,  and  said  half  seriously, 
half  jestingly,  "Keep  your  hands  off,  please."  This  was 
the  first  sentence  I  learned  in  English. 

The  man  in  the  shop  who  interested  me  most  was  the 
presser.  He  was  almost  black  and  he  had  a  small  black 
beard.  His  features  were  regular  and  good  but  there  was 
no  life  in  his  face  and  his  voice  had  a  tired  ring  in  it. 
His  back  was  enormous,  his  chest  narrow  and  he  lifted 
his  twenty-five  pound  iron  with  difficulty.  I  often  felt 
sad  when  I  looked  at  him  without  knowing  why  and  was 
glad  when  he  sent  me  on  an  errand. 

He  was  the  jest  in  the  shop.  He  had  been  six  years  in 
this  country  and  had  not  yet  decided  whether  he  should 
send  for  his  wife  or,  as  he  often  said,  "Take  a  souvenir 
of  America  and  go  home  to  Russia."  The  men  teased 
him  about  his  wife  and  little  girl  who,  they  said,  would 
be  a  woman  by  the  time  he  decided.  I,  too,  often  won- 
dered, "Will  he  go  home?  And  what  will  he  take  as  a 
remembrance  ?" 

One  day  when  I  was  not  busy  I  went  over  and  asked 
him  if  he  wanted  me  to  go  on  an  errand.  He  put  down 
his  iron  on  the  flat  stone  which  he  used  as  a  stand,  and 
looked  at  me  thoughtfully.  "No,"  he  said.  As  I  turned 
away  he  called  me  back. 

"Rahel,"  he  said,  "if  you  were  my  little  girl  in  Europe, 


86  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

what  would  you  like  me  to  bring  you  from  America?" 
I  thought  for  a  moment  and  said,  "Earrings." 

When  he  came  in  the  next  morning  he  had  a  massive 
gold  watch  and  chain,  a  marriage  ring,  and  a  small  pair 
of  earrings. 

A  week  later  there  was  another  presser  in  the  shop, 
one  with  a  straight  back  and  a  red  beard. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  87 


XXI 

ONE  day  a  jewelry  pedlar  came  into  the  shop.  He 
showed  us  a  watch.  He  told  the  men  that  the  watch  was 
of  fourteen  karat  gold.  But  he  would  sell  it  cheaply,  for 
fifteen  dollars,  because  it  was  "second  hand." 

The  assistant  machine  operator  bought  the  watch  for 
ten  dollars.  He  was  living  on  very  little  in  order  to 
save  and  send  for  his  family  in  Russia.  "But  a  good 
watch,"  he  figured,  "is  as  good  as  cash,  lasts  a  lifetime." 
The  men  all  congratulated  the  operator  and  teased, 
"Morris,  you  shall  have  to  treat  to-night." 

"I  certainly  will,"  he  said  heartily.  "I'll  treat  the  whole 
shop." 

I  learned  to  look  forward  to  these  little  merry  makings 
and  love  them.  How  they  also  shortened  the  day ! 

At  noon  Morris,  the  operator,  went  down  as  usual  to 
his  dinner.  He  returned  in  a  few  minutes  looking  so 
pale.  Even  his  lips  were  white.  And  when  he  began  to 
talk  his  voice  trembled.  He  told  the  men  that  he  had 
been  to  a  pawn  shop  and  that  he  was  told  the  watch 
was  worth  at  most  three  dollars.  The  men  were  shocked. 
They  held  a  short  consultation  and  finally  told  Morris 
that  they  would  raffle  the  watch  off.  Each  of  them  paid 
a  dollar  and  a  half.  Morris  himself  won  the  watch. 

That  night  we  stopped  work  an  hour  earlier.  Morris 
bought  two  pints  of  beer  and  some  bologna  and  we 
feasted. 

I  liked  the  life  in  the  shop  yet  there  were  times  when 
I  felt  unhappy.  The  men  often  told  vulgar  jokes.  The 
first  time  this  happened  father  looked  at  me  and  groaned. 

"Don't  listen,"  he  said,  "or  pretend  you  don't  hear." 


88  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

But  I  could  never  keep  my  face  from  turning  red. 

One  day  when  Atta  and  I  were  alone  at  our  table  she 
said: 

"It  is  too  bad  that  you  have  a  'tell  tale  face.'  You 
better  learn  to  hide  your  feelings.  What  you  hear  in  this 
shop  is  nothing  compared  with  what  you  will  hear  in 
other  shops.  Look  at  me."  But  when  I  would  look  over 
at  Atta  it  seemed  to  me  that  her  needle  actually  flew  in 
and  out  of  her  sleeve  lining  and  her  pretty  little  mouth 
looked  more  pursed  than  usual. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  89 


XXII 

WHEN  I  learned  to  find  my  way  home  alone  my  hours 
were  not  so  long.  For  father  was  a  piece  worker  and  as  I 
was  only  helping  him  he  could  do  as  he  pleased  with  my 
time.  And  so  now  I  came  into  the  shop  at  seven  o'clock 
in  the  morning  and  found  my  roll  and  apple  already  wait- 
ing for  me.  And  when  I  went  home  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  evening  it  was  still  broad  daylight. 

Our  room  was  a  dingy  place  where  the  sun  never  came 
in.  I  always  felt  lonely  and  a  little  homesick  on  coming 
into  it.  But  I  would  soon  shake  off  the  feeling.  I  would 
cook  and  eat  some  soup  and  then  go  and  stand  on  the 
stoop  and  watch  the  children  playing. 

One  night  as  I  came  out  of  our  room  into  the  hall  I 
caught  a  few  strains  of  music  coming  from  the  roof.  I 
went  up  and  found  under  the  sky,  blue  and  bright  with 
the  stars  and  the  city  lights  twinkling  all  around,  a  group 
of  Irish-American  girls  and  boys  waltzing  to  the  music 
of  a  harmonica.  I  sat  down  in  the  shadow  near  one  of 
the  chimneys  and  watched  the  stars  and  the  dancing  and 
listened  to  the  song  of  "My  Beautiful  Irish  Maid." 

After  this  I  went  up  every  evening.  At  first  the  girls 
and  boys  showed  that  I  was  not  welcome  by  making 
ugly  grimaces  at  me.  But  as  I  persisted,  for  I  wanted  to 
know  the  Americans,  they  became  used  to  seeing  me. 
And  soon  they  paid  no  more  attention  to  me  than  to  the 
chimney  near  which  I  sat. 

On  Friday  I  worked  only  the  first  half  of  the  day, 
then  I  would  go  home  to  do  the  washing  and  cleaning  in 
our  room.  All  morning  I  would  count  the  hours  and  half 
hours  and  my  heart  beat  with  joy  at  the  thought  that  I 


90  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

would  soon  leave  the  shop.  When  at  last  I  heard  the 
noon  whistle  from  the  big  paper  factory  on  Water  Street 
I  used  to  bend  my  head  low  to  hide  this  joy.  I  felt 
ashamed  at  my  eagerness  to  leave  off  work.  When  I 
came  out  into  the  street  I  had  to  stand  still  for  a  while 
and  look  about.  I  felt  dazed  by  the  light  and  the  air  and 
the  joy  of  knowing  that  I  was  free.  For  at  these  mo- 
ments I  did  not  remember  the  work  at  home.  I  would 
start  to  walk  along  slowly,  linger  under  the  trees,  of 
which  there  was  one  here  and  there  on  Cherry  Street, 
and  watch  the  children  on  the  way  home  from  school  to 
lunch.  In  their  white  summery  dresses  and  with  books 
under  their  arms,  they  appeared  to  me  like  wonderful 
little  beings  of  a  world  entirely  different  from  mine.  I 
watched  and  envied  them.  But  I  often  consoled  myself 
with  the  thought,  "When  our  children  come  they  too  will 
go  to  school." 

On  the  stoop  I  lingered  too.  I  watched  the  children 
playing  jacks  and  from  minute  to  minute  I  put  off  going 
in.  At  last  with  a  feeling  of  guilt  I  would  realise  that 
the  afternoon  was  almost  gone  and  my  work  not  even 
begun.  But  it  was  at  such  moments  that  I  did  my  best 
and  quickest  work.  I  would  rush  upstairs,  catch  up  the 
bundle  of  soiled  clothes  under  my  arm  and  run  down 
into  the  cellar  to  the  wash  tubs.  Once  the  washing  was 
done  I  did  not  feel  so  guilty,  and  by  the  time  I  was  at 
the  floor,  which  I  scrubbed  with  great  swishes  of  water, 
I  sang  cheerfully,  "After  the  Ball  is  Over." 

On  Saturday  father  and  I  used  to  go  to  see  Aunt 
Masha.  The  first  time  we  went  and  asked  to  see  her, 
her  mistress  opened  a  door  in"  the  back  of  the  store  and 
called  in  a  shrill  voice,  "Jen-nie — ,  Jennie."  To  my  sur- 
prise it  was  Aunt  Masha  that  came  out. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  91 


XXIII 

KATE,  Mrs.  Felesberg's  eldest  daughter,  and  I  became 
friends.  She  was  seventeen,  tall,  flat  looking  and  stoop- 
ing. But  her  face  was  very  pretty.  Her  blue-grey  eyes 
twinkled  with  mischief  and  her  manner  was  shy  and 
bold  at  the  same  time.  She  was  also  a  great  tease.  She 
teased  me  constantly  because  on  a  Saturday,  the  Sab- 
bath, I  would  not  light  the  gas  nor  carry  my  handker- 
chief in  my  hand  on  the  street,  nor  would  I  sit  down  to 
a  meal  at  any  time  before  washing  my  hands  and  say- 
ing grace. 

"You  are  like  an  old  woman,"  she  used  to  say  laugh- 
ingly. "You  are  more  fit  for  Palestine  where  the  aged 
are  spending  their  last  days,  than  for  America." 

She  also  called  me  "little  village  maiden."  I  think  this 
hurt  most.  And  so  I  kept  away  from  her.  But  there 
was  one  thing  about  Kate  to  which  I  finally  succumbed. 
She  had  a  beautiful  voice  and  when  she  sang  I  forgave 
her  everything  and  longed  to  go  to  her  and  finally  I  did. 

And  now  of  an  evening  I  stayed  in  my  room  and  lis- 
tened to  Kate  singing  and  talking  about  boys. 

Besides  the  door  which  led  into  the  hall  of  the  tene- 
ment and  the  one  that  opened  into  the  Felesberg  flat  there 
was  still  another  door  in  our  room.  Against  this  our  cot 
stood.  There  were  two  rooms  on  the  other  side,  in  which 
lived  a  plump,  wrinkled  little  old  woman  who  wore  a 
bit  of  red  worsted  around  her  wrist  to  keep  off  the  "Evil 
Eye."  With  her  lived  her  son,  who  was  single  because 
he  would  not  marry  "a  worn  out  shop  girl,"  and  a 
boarder.  Kate  talked  constantly  about  the  boarder  and 


92  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

often  half  in  fun,  half  in  earnest,  threw  kisses  at  the 
door. 

She  told  me  that  he  was  a  machine  operator  "but  he 
looked  like  a  student."  It  was  while  sitting  on  the  cot, 
with  her  eyes  on  this  door,  that  she  sang  her  best.  Her 
sweet,  clear  voice  filled  our  dull  room,  escaped  through 
the  window  and  filled  the  grey  yard.  People  always 
stood  at  the  window  in  the  house  opposite  when  Kate 
sang.  And  from  the  other  side  of  the  door  came  little 
bursts  of  applause. 

One  night,  after  Kate  had  sung  one  of  her  Russian 
songs,  we  heard  a  body  press  against  the  door  and  a 
boyish  voice  call  through  the  keyhole,  "More!  sing 
more !"  Kate  became  almost  hysterical  with  ecstasy.  She 
gave  me  a  pinch,  a  nudge  and  a  slap,  which  she  had  a 
habit  of  doing,  when  she  was  gay  and  excited,  and  bend- 
ing down  to  the  keyhole  she  said,  "Supposing  you  sing 
now." 

"Not  after  hearing  you,"  he  said.  "But  I  would  like 
to  see  you  sing  as  well  as  hear.  May  I  come  in?" 

Kate  lifted  her  flushed  face,  told  me  what  he  said,  and 
giggled.  "He  wants  to  come  in!" 

I  was  curious  to  see  the  boy  and  watch  the  two  meet 
but  I  did  not  want  him  to  come  in  because  father  would 
be  home  soon  and  would  want  his  supper.  But  as  I  did 
not  know  how  to  refuse  I  said,  "Let  him  come."  Kate 
barely  had  time  to  settle  herself  on  the  cot  and  control 
her  giggles  and  I  to  place  the  chair  for  him  at  the  little 
table,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  I  opened  it 
and  saw  a  boy  about  eighteen  with  pale,  thin  cheeks  and 
bright  dark  eyes.  He  stood  expectant  and  smiling.  But 
his  face  sobered  and  he  seemed  surprised  when  he  saw 
me.  I  opened  the  door  wide  and  when  he  saw  Kate's 
pink,  shimmering  face,  his  own  brightened  again. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  93 

He  sat  down  on  the  chair  and  we  two  girls  sat  on 
the  cot.  Neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  few  minutes  and 
Kate  did  not  know  where  to  look.  Finally  he  began  in 
English.  Of  course,  I  did  not  understand  what  they 
were  saying.  They  paid  no  attention  to  me  and  soon  I 
forgot  them  too,  though  it  was  about  them  that  I  thought. 
I  saw  Kate  and  the  boy  engaged  and  married.  They 
were  living  in  a  beautiful  house  on  Grand  Street  where 
you  had  to  ring  a  bell  to  go  in.  A  little  one  toddled 
about  in  their  rooms  and  they  were  happy.  One  day 
suddenly  I  felt  Kate  shaking  me  and  saying,  "Ruth, 
Ruth,  what  shall  we  do?  I  hear  your  father's  steps 
in  the  hall !"  I  stood  up  a  little  dazed.  I  saw  her  run  and 
lock  the  door.  Then  bidding  the  boy  a  quick  fare- 
well she  hurried  into  her  own  rooms  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her.  In  the  meantime  father  was  at  this  door 
turning  the  knob.  Finding  it  locked  he  knocked  gently. 
Without  clearly  knowing  why,  I  suddenly  felt  dreadfully 
embarrassed  and  irritated  that  Kate  locked  the  door.  I 
went  and  unlocked  it  and  father  came  in.  He  saw  the  vis- 
itor at  once  and  stood  looking  at  him,  first  with  surprise, 
then  with  astonishment  and  finally  with  anger.  He  went 
over  to  the  table,  put  down  the  loaf  of  bread  which  he  al- 
ways brought  when  he  came,  and  opening  the  door  wide 
he  pointed  and  said  angrily  in  Russian  "Vone !" 

When  the  boy  went  out  and  the  door  was  closed 
father  turned  to  me.  His  face  looked  so  angry  that  I 
trembled. 

"This  is  very  pretty  conduct,"  he  said.  "And  you  are 
not  yet  thirteen." 

I  began  to  cry  and  explain  at  once.  But  father  never 
listened  to  explanations,  and  commanded  me  to  be  silent 
at  the  very  first  word. 

The  next  day  I  told  Kate  what  father  said  and  how  he 


94  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

felt  about  me,  thinking  that  she  would  go  and  explain  to 
him.  But  she  just  laughed. 

I  felt  deeply  hurt  and  disappointed,  and  I  could  not 
forget  the  boy's  face  as  he  left  our  room. 

And  now  a  different  life  began  for  me.  Father  think- 
ing that  he  had  given  me  too  much  freedom  and  had 
spoiled  me  went  to  the  other  extreme.  He  began  to  treat 
me  so  severely  that  I  could  scarcely  lift  my  head.  He 
suspected  me  at  every  step  and  found  fault  and  blamed 
me  for  everything  that  happened. 

One  Saturday  while  standing  out  on  the  stoop  I  saw 
one  little  girl  show  a  cent  to  another  and  boasting  that 
she  was  going  to  buy  candy.  Seeing  money  handled  on 
Sabbath  had  long  lost  its  horror  for  me.  It  occurred  to 
me  that  I  too  would  like  to  have  a  cent  with  which  to  do 
just  as  I  pleased.  I  went  up  at  once  to  our  room  and  asked 
father  as  he  lay  resting  on  the  cot.  He  looked  at  me 
silently  for  a  long  moment.  Then  he  rose  slowly,  took 
out  his  pocket  book,  took  a  cent  from  it,  held  it  out  to  me, 
and  said  with  a  frown  that  reminded  me  of  Aunt  Masha, 
"Here,  and  see  that  this  never  happens  again." 

I  felt  as  if  the  coin  were  burning  my  fingers.  I  handed 
it  back  quickly,  left  the  room  and  walked  about  in  the 
streets.  I  felt  mortally  hurt.  I  felt  that  I  was  working 
from  morning  till  night  like  a  grown  up  person  and  yet 

when  I  wanted  one  single  cent .  When  evening  came 

I  went  home,  cooked  the  rice  and  milk,  as  usual,  put  it 
on  the  table  and  then  sat  down  away  from  it  at  the 
farthest  end  of  the  cot.  Father  ate  a  few  spoonfuls  and 
then  commanded:  "Sit  down  at  the  table  and  eat  your 
supper." 

"I  am  not  hungry,"  I  answered.  And  indeed  I  was 
not.  I  could  never  eat  when  I  was  miserable.  The  food 
always  seemed  to  stick  in  my  throat.  Father  com- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  95 

manded,  "Eat  whether  you  want  to  or  not.  Eat  because 
I  say  so !"  Again  I  repeated  that  I  was  not  hungry.  He 
looked  at  me  and  said  :  "Oh,  you  are  sulking  ?  Very  well, 
we  shall  see."  Without  haste  he  laid  down  his  spoon, 
took  down  our  coarse  linen  roller  towel  which  I  brought 
from  home,  twisted  it  carefully  into  a  rope  and  came 
over  to  me.  Poor  father,  I  know  now  that  he  hated  to 
hurt  me  and  took  long  to  prepare  to  give  me  time  to 
change  my  mind.  "Will  you  eat?"  he  asked.  I  coughed 
to  steady  my  voice  and  said  "No."  He  struck  me  across 
the  back.  My  only  thought  now  was  not  to  cry  out. 
"On  the  right  is  the  little  old  woman  and  her  family,  on 
the  left  the  Felesbergs.  They  will  hear  me.  I'll  never 
be  able  to  raise  my  head  before  any  of  them  again."  And 
I  prayed  for  strength. 

Father  never  did  anything  by  halves.  I  felt  the  towel 
across  my  back  again  and  again.  Finally  he  threw  it 
down  and  said,  panting  for  breath,  "Girl,  I'll  break  you 
if  you  don't  change."  And  I  said  in  my  heart,  "My 
father,  we  shall  see !" 

He  turned  out  the  gas,  went  out,  slamming  the  door 
after  him  so  that  the  windows  rattled. 

When  it  was  all  quiet,  a  door  opened  in  our  room  and 
Mrs.  Felesberg  came  in  with  a  light  and  a  bottle  of 
vaseline. 


96  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXIV 

Now  I  felt  lonely  still  oftener.  For  I  missed  father's 
confidence  and  tenderness  and  Kate's  friendship  and  to 
this  unhappiness  more  was  soon  added. 

Father  and  I  were  on  our  block  one  day,  walking 
toward  home,  when  a  boy  in  uniform  coming  toward 
us  walked  into  me  with  so  much  force  that  I  stumbled 
backward  a  few  steps  and  for  a  minute  could  not  catch 
my  breath.  Father  looked  at  me  and  began  to  scold  as 
usual  now :  "How  often  have  I  told  you  to  keep  to 
the  right.  There  is  no  room  for  dreamers  here." 

It  had  seemed  to  me  that  the  boy  struck  against  me 
intentionally  but  I  was  not  sure.  The  next  day  it  hap- 
pened again  and  now  my  peace  was  gone.  The  boy 
lived  in  the  same  building  and  as  often  as  I  met  him 
he  hurt  me.  He  never  passed  me  without  shoving  his 
elbow  into  my  side  or  giving  my  braid  a  tug  so  that  it 
felt  as  if  the  skin  on  my  forehead  would  burst.  He  was 
as  tall  as  I  was  and  as  my  hair  reached  below  my  waist, 
he  could  do  this  by  a  slight  movement  of  the  hand  while 
his  arm  hung  innocently  at  his  side.  He  always  did  it 
so  quickly  that  I  could  never  catch  him  at  it  and  I  don't 
believe  any  one  else  ever  saw  him  do  it.  But  his  fa- 
vourite way  of  hurting  was  to  assume  an  absent-minded 
expression  wiien  he  saw  me  coming,  look  about,  and  walk 
into  me,  striking  my  chest  with  his  elbow.  This  lasted 
for  weeks  and  my  life  became  a  nightmare  to  me.  I  be- 
gan to  be  afraid  to  be  out  on  the  street.  I  never  left 
the  building  without  looking  up  and  down  the  block  first. 
Now  that  father  treated  me  so  harshly  I  did  not  like  to 
talk  to  him  about  it,  thinking  that  he  would  lay  the  blame 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  97 

on  me.  And  as  for  striking  the  boy,  it  did  not  even  occur 
to  me  to  do  so.  He  was  a  messenger  boy  but  I  did  not 
know  it.  And  even  if  I  had  it  would  not  have  made  any 
difference.  For  I,  as  my  grandfather,  looked  upon  uni- 
forms with  fear  and  respect.  And  beside  too,  he  was  a 
Gentile  and  "this  country  was  his." 

One  Saturday  morning  I  rose  earlier  than  usual.  I 
felt  happier  than  I  had  been  for  a  long  time.  I  had  won 
my  father's  favour  the  day  before  by  doing  a  particularly 
hard  piece  of  work.  He  was  so  pleased  that  he  showed  it 
to  the  boss  and  smiled  at  me  in  the  old  way.  At  noon 
when  I  left  to  go  and  do  the  work  at  home,  he  came  out 
with  me,  took  me  to  a  shoe  store  and  bought  me  shoes. 

And  so  this  morning  early,  as  soon  as  father  went  to 
synagogue,  I  too  rose  and  tidied  the  room.  Then  I 
combed  out  my  hair  carefully  and  let  it  loose.  I  put 
on  my  brown  clean  calico  and  my  new  shoes.  These 
were  my  first  American  shoes  and  though  they  were 
much  too  large  and  my  feet  looked  rather  clumsy  in 
them, — father  believed  that  clothes  for  children  should 
be  large  enough  to  grow  in, — still  they  were  new  and  the 
buttons  and  patent  leather  tips  shone  and  so  I  was 
pleased.  As  soon  as  I  was  quite  ready  I  went  out  to 
stand  on  the  stoop.  I  scarcely  ever  went  walking  now, 
as  I  was  in  constant  fear  of  meeting  the  messenger  boy. 
I  had  not  been  on  the  stoop  long  when  I  saw  him  coming 
from  the  Clinton  Street  side.  My  heart  began  to  beat 
so  that  it  pained  and  all  my  happiness  was  gone  in  a 
moment.  But  immediately  I  comforted  myself  with  the 
thought  that  I  was  on  the  far  end  of  the  stoop  and  that 
he  could  not  possibly  hurt  me  when  I  stood  there  be- 
cause the  stoop  was  so  wide  and  he  would  have  to  walk 
up  the  end  he  reached  first.  I  pressed  close  to  the  iron 
railing  at  my  end  and  watched  him  coming.  He  walked 


98 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

with  a  swagger  this  morning.  When  he  came  nearer  I 
saw  a  new  cap  in  place  of  the  old  one  in  which  I  had 
always  seen  him.  The  little  brass  button  on  each  side  of 
the  peak  sparkled  as  he  moved  his  head. 

Suddenly  he  saw  me.  Immediately  he  slackened  his 
pace,  assumed  his  absent-minded  expression  and  began 
looking  about.  My  heart  beat  more  violently.  What 
should  I  do?  Run  upstairs?  I  felt  sure  he  would  find 
a  way  to  hurt  me.  But  I  always  hated  to  run  away. 
I  stood  still,  almost  holding  my  breath  as  he  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  As  he  walked  along  slowly  he  kept  looking 
dreamily  across  the  street  and  passed  beyond  our  even 
end  of  the  stoop  a  step  or  two.  Then,  as  if  he  suddenly 
realised  it  he  stopped,  looked  about  and  came  back.  And 
now  he  must  pass  close  to  me.  The  next  moment  I  felt 
my  toes  crushed  under  his  heel.  I  caught  hold  of  the  iron 
railing  and  closed  my  eyes  for  a  moment.  Then  I  looked 
down  at  my  new  shoes.  One  tip  was  broken  and  my  toes 
inside  felt  moist.  I  looked  at  the  boy  for  he  had  stopped 
right  opposite  me.  He  was  so  sure  of  me  and  stood 
gazing  far  away  and  whistling  softly.  All  at  once  a 
feeling  of  hatred  came  into  my  heart,  my  temples  began 
to  throb  and  now  I  did  not  see  his  uniform  nor  did  I 
remember,  as  I  had  often  told  myself,  that  this  country  of 
America  was  his.  With  one  step  I  reached  him,  snatched 
off  his  cap  and  ran  and  threw  it  into  the  gutter  and  began 
to  stamp  on  it.  I  broke  the  brim.  I  crushed  the  little  brass 
buttons  under  my  heels,  I  stamped  it  into  the  dirt  and 
in  a  moment  it  did  not  look  like  a  cap.  But  I  was  not 
yet  satisfied.  A  few  feet  away  I  saw  a  little  puddle 
of  water.  I  kicked  the  cap  into  it  and  began  stamping 
on  it  all  over  again.  At  last  my  strength  began  to  give 
out  and  I  became  aware  that  a  number  of  people  had 
gathered  and  that  the  boy  stood  among  them,  gaping  at 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  99 

me.  I  stopped  stamping,  tossed  back  my  hair  which  had 
fallen  all  about  my  face,  and  passed  close  to  him.  I 
thought,  "If  he  touches  me  I'll  strike  him  down."  But 
he  did  not.  The  people  who  stood  about  were  staring 
at  me  and  talking.  When  I  came  upstairs  and  looked 
at  myself  in  the  glass  I  thought  they  must  have  been 
saying,  "The  fury,"  or  "The  wild  thing."  My  hair  was 
all  tangled  and  seemed  to  stand  up.  My  face  was  drip- 
ping wet  and  covered  with  pink  and  white  blotches,  and 
my  eyes  looked  wild. 

I  locked  the  door  and  sat  all  morning  laughing  and 
crying  hysterically  and  listening  for  a  policeman's  heavy 
footsteps  in  the  hall.  I  felt  sure  that  a  policeman  would 
come  and  drag  me  to  prison.  But  when  the  day  passed 
and  nothing  happened  I  became  bolder,  and  in  the  eve- 
ning, when  I  knew  the  boy  would  be  coming  out  of  the 
building,  I  went  out  on  the  street.  I  was  curious  now  as 
to  what  would  happen  next.  The  boy  came  out,  saw  me 
and  passed  me  quickly  and  at  a  good  distance  away.  I 
laughed  quietly  to  myself  and  began  to  walk  toward 
Montgomery  Street,  where  I  saw  the  light  of  a  street 
lamp  shining  on  a  tree. 


ioo  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXV 

ONE  evening  in  the  Fall  father  came  home  with  two 
brightly  coloured  frameless  pictures  and  nailed  one  on 
the  door  leading  into  the  Felesberg's  rooms  and  the  other 
on  the  door  leading  into  the  little  old  woman's.  He 
explained  to  me  that  the  pictures  were  of  the  two  men, 
nominated  for  the  presidential  office.  The  prospective 
presidents  in  these  pictures  were  herdsmen.  Each  one, 
dressed  in  fine  black  clothes  and  a  high  silk  hat,  stood 
in  the  midst  of  a  herd  of  cattle.  In  one  picture  the  herds- 
man was  short,  stout  and  clean  shaven,  the  cattle  were 
round  and  sleek  and  the  pasture  green  and  abundant.  In 
the  other  it  was  just  the  reverse.  The  herdsman  was 
tall,  thin  and  bearded,  the  cattle  had  fallen-in  sides,  and 
the  ground  was  brown  and  bare. 

I  looked  at  the  pictures  and  took  them  literally  and 
seriously.  One  meant  four  years  of  plenty,  the  other 
four  years  of  famine.  But  after  a  while,  noticing  that 
no  one  else  seemed  at  all  worried  over  it,  I  merely  won- 
dered, "What  happens  on  election  day?" 

Soon  after  this  I  saw  the  Gentile  boys  on  our  block 
begin  to  store  away,  into  a  cellar,  all  the  barrels,  boxes, 
broken  couches,  torn  mattresses,  and  every  stick  of  wood 
they  could  lay  hands  on.  I  understood  that  the  prepara- 
tions were  for  election  night  and  I  looked  on  silently 
with  pleasant  excitement. 

At  last  election  day  came.  In  the  shop  the  men  were 
discussing  the  candidates  and  there  was  a  cheerful  holi- 
day atmosphere.  "I  bet  you  a  pint  of  beer  Harrison  will 
be  elected."  "I  bet  you  two  pints  it  will  be  Cleveland." 
In  the  afternoon  I  heard  the  men  say  they  would  go 


X),    )    „ 


1   SAW   THE  JEWISH    MEN    HURRYING 
HOME   FROM    WORK. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  101 

home  early.  When  I  was  leaving  father  too  said  he 
would  be  home  before  dark. 

After  supper  I  climbed  out  on  Mrs.  Felesberg's  fire 
escape  and  looked  down  between  the  bars  into  the  street. 
I  saw  the  Jewish  men  hurrying  home  from  work  and 
noticed  that  very  few  of  the  Jewish  children  were  out. 
The  Gentile  boys  were  busy  dragging  forth  the  barrels 
and  couches  and  mattresses  and  piling  them  up  in  a 
heap  in  front  of  the  four  big  tenements  inhabited  chiefly 
by  Jews. 

When  it  grew  dark  they  lit  the  heaps  of  rubbish  and 
in  a  moment  there  was  a  great  blaze.  The  sparks  flew, 
the  fire  crackled  and  the  reflections  of  the  flames  danced 
merrily  on  the  small  red  brick  houses  opposite,  where  the 
Gentiles  lived.  From  the  windows  of  these  houses  groups 
of  people  were  leaning  out  talking  and  laughing  merrily. 
Mrs.  Felesberg  also  stuck  her  head  out  of  the  window 
for  a  moment,  looked  down  at  the  flame  and  said  ear- 
nestly :  "Thank  God,  there  is  no  wind.  And  if  it  comes 
I  hope  it  will  blow  the  other  way."  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  uneasy  and  wished  that  father  had  come  home 
before  dark,  as  he  said  he  would.  Scarcely  any  one 
passed  through  the  block  now.  I  noticed  with  fear  that 
not  a  Jew  was  to  be  seen  on  the  street.  After  a  little 
while  I  saw  some  one  coming  from  the  Montgomery 
Street  side.  Though  I  expected  father  to  come  through 
Clinton  Street  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  he  had 
decided  this  other  way  was  safer,  and  I  strained  my  eyes 
and  watched.  When  the  person  came  nearer  I  saw  that 
it  was  the  son  of  the  little  old  woman.  He  walked 
slowly,  hesitatingly  and  kept  to  the  wall.  The  men  and 
boys  around  the  fire  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  his 
coming,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  in  front  of  the  fire  they 


102  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

suddenly  attacked  him.  There  was  a  short  tussle  and 
soon  I  saw  him  rushed  into  the  hall. 

I  was  beside  myself  with  fear  now.  "Why  doesn't 
father  come?  Why  did  I  leave  him?"  I  could  not  help 
blaming  myself. 

Again  Mrs.  Felesberg  came  over  and  looked  out  of 
the  window  and  asked,  "Isn't  your  father  here  yet, 
Rahel?" 

"No,"  I  shook  my  head.  I  could  not  answer  her.  I 
pressed  my  forehead  to  the  iron  bars  and  looked  over  to 
Clinton  Street.  Every  time  the  fire  was  poked  the  whole 
block  was  lit  up  and  I  could  see  all  the  way  over  to  the 
corner.  I  thought  I  saw  a  figure  lurking  away  over  in 
the  shadow.  "Could  that  be  father?"  I  thought.  "Per- 
haps it  is  some  other  Jewish  man.  Oh  God,  will  he  ever 
come !" 

At  last  I  saw  him  turn  from  Clinton  into  Cherry 
Street.  The  blaze  flared  suddenly  and  I  recognised  his 
tan  suit  and  hat.  I  jumped  up,  leaned  over  the  fire  escape 
and  watched  him  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  keeping  in 
the  middle  of  the  sidewalk.  The  boys  and  men  stood 
about  the  fire  laughing,  talking,  pushing  each  other.  One 
was  playing  on  a  harmonica  and  a  few  were  waltzing. 

At  last  I  saw  father  almost  opposite  the  blaze.  My 
heart  stood  still  and  my  eyes  felt  stretched  so  far  apart 
that  it  seemed  as  though  I  could  never  close  them  again. 

"Will  they  let  him  pass?  Oh,  that  is  too  good  to  be 
true."  And  indeed  it  was.  The  next  moment  I  saw  a 
black  mass  of  bodies  hurl  itself  at  him. 

"Father!"  I  screamed  down.  My  voice  struck  terror 
into  my  own  heart.  The  next  moment  I  was  rushing 
blindly  through  Mrs.  Felesberg's  rooms,  lit  only  by  the 
blaze  from  the  outside,  knocking  myself  against  table 
and  chairs.  At  last  I  was  out  in  the  hall  and  went  fall- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  103 

ing  and  tumbling  down  stairs.  On  the  first  floor  I  met 
him  coming  up,  pale  and  hatless.  We  stopped  and  looked 
at  each  other.  I  was  beside  myself  with  joy  to  see  him 
alive  but  I  heard  myself  say,  "Father,  your  hat!"  And 
he  smiled  and  said  pantingly,  "That  is  nothing,  I  needed 
a  new  one." 


104  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXVI 

I  HAD  seen  from  the  first  that  Jews  were  treated 
roughly  on  Cherry  Street.  I  had  seen  the  men  and  boys 
that  stood  about  the  saloons  at  every  corner  make  ugly 
grimaces  at  the  passing  Jews  and  throw  after  them  stones 
and  shoes  pulled  out  of  the  ash  cans.  I  had  often  seen 
these  "loafers,"  as  we  called  them,  attack  a  Jewish 
pedlar,  dump  his  push  cart  of  apples  into  the  gutter, 
fill  their  pockets  and  walk  away  laughing  and  eating.  I 
had  run  for  the  apples  in  the  gutter,  rolling  in  every  di- 
rection, and  helped  to  pick  them  up.  I  myself  had  often 
walked  two  blocks  out  of  my  way  to  reach  home  through 
Montgomery  Street  instead  of  going  through  Clinton 
Street  where  there  were  three  saloons.  And  yet  as  soon 
as  I  was  safe  in  the  house  I  scarcely  gave  the  matter  a 
second  thought.  Perhaps  it  was  because  to  see  a  Jew 
maltreated  was  nothing  new  for  me.  Here  where  there 
were  so  many  new  and  strange  things  for  me  to  see  and 
understand  this  was  the  one  familiar  thing.  I  had  grown 
used  to  seeing  strange  Jews  mistreated  whenever  they 
happened  to  come  to  our  village  in  Russia. 

But  after  election  night  I  felt  differently.  I  was 
haunted  by  the  picture  of  the  little  old  woman's  son 
struggling  with  the  young  Irish-Americans  near  the 
bonfire,  and  of  my  father  coming  up  the  stairs,  pale 
and  hatless.  I  was  never  easy  in  my  mind  now  except 
when  I  was  with  father.  I  always  sat  up  at  night  until 
he  came  home;  and  if  he  happened  to  be  a  few  minutes 
late  I  was  beside  myself  with  fear.  I  pictured  him  mur- 
dered and  burned  alive.  I  listened  to  every  tale  about 
Cherry  and  Water  Streets.  I  heard  that  a  policeman  had 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  105 

been  found  in  a  dark  hallway  with  his  head  stuck  into  a 
barrel,  smothered  to  death.  And  for  a  time  I  could 
think  about  nothing  else. 

One  Friday  afternoon,  soon  after  election,  I  finished 
my  washing  and  cleaning  early  and  I  went  out  into 
the  street.  I  was  returning  about  five  o'clock  through 
Clinton  Street  when  I  saw  a  Jewish  pedlar  with  a  push 
cart  standing  on  the  corner  of  Monroe  Street  and  look- 
ing about  helplessly.  I  saw  him  watching  me  as  I  came 
up.  When  I  was  near  he  asked,  "Are  you  Jewish?"  I 
nodded  my  head  and  stopped.  I  saw  that  his  push  cart 
held  fish,  mixed  with  chunks  of  ice.  "You  can  do  me  a 
favour,"  he  said  in  a  pleading  tone.  "You  see  this  hand- 
ful of  fish?  This  is  all  my  profit.  If  I  could  get  over  to 
that  group  of  Jewish  houses  on  Cherry  Street,"  he 
pointed  to  our  tenements,  "I  could  still  sell  it  though  it  is 
late.  But  I  dare  not  pass  those  loafers  hanging  around 
the  saloons."  "But,  what  can  I  do?"  I  asked.  "You  can 
do  much,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "They  have  great  re- 
spect for  a  lady  in  America." 

"But "  I  began.  "That  is  all  right,"  he  said  with  a 

wave  of  the  hand.  "You  look  like  a  lady.  And  if  you 
will  just  walk  beside  me  while  I  am  passing  the  loafers, 
they  won't  touch  me."  I  remembered  now  often  having 
seen  Jewish  men  escorted  past  dangerous  places.  And 
the  women  would  as  often  be  Irish. 

I  stepped  into  the  gutter,  and  for  greater  safety  laid 
my  hand  on  the  push  cart  and  walked  along  beside  him. 
When  we  were  passing  the  saloon  the  "loafers"  made 
grimaces  and  shouted  after  him,  but  did  not  touch  him. 
We  stopped  at  our  group  of  houses.  He  thanked  me 
and  at  once  became  business-like.  He  shook  up  the  ice 
in  the  push  cart  and  then  placing  his  hand  at  one  corner 
of  his  mouth,  American  fashion,  and  looking  up  at  the 


106 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

windows  he  shouted  lustily:  "Hurry,  hurry,  women! 
Fresh  pike  here,  fresh  pike  for  the  Sabbath." 

I  found  that  father  was  already  at  home.  As  I  came 
into  the  room  I  saw  him  sitting  at  the  table  before  the 
little  mirror  resting  against  the  wall,  clipping  his  beard. 
I  was  so  surprised  and  shocked  to  see  him  actually  do 
this  thing  that  I  could  neither  speak  nor  move  for  some 
minutes.  And  I  knew  that  he  too  felt  embarrassed. 
After  the  first  glance  I  kept  my  eyes  steadily  on  the  floor 
in  front  of  me  and  began  to  talk  to  him  quietly  but  with 
great  earnestness. 

"You  had  been  so  pious  at  home,  father,"  I  said, 
"more  pious  than  any  one  else  in  our  whole  neighbour- 
hood. And  now  you  are  cutting  your  beard.  Grand- 
mother would  never  have  believed  it.  How  she  would 
weep !" 

The  snipping  of  the  scissors  still  went  on.  But  I 
knew  by  the  sound  that  now  he  was  only  making  a  pre- 
tence at  cutting.  At  last  he  laid  it  down  and  said  in  a 
tone  that  was  bitter  yet  quiet : 

"They  do  not  like  Jews  on  Cherry  Street.  And  one 
with  a  long  beard  has  to  take  his  life  into  his  own  hands." 

"But,  father,"  I  said,  looking  at  him  now,  "must  we 
live  on  Cherry  Street?" 

"Yes,  we  must,"  he  said,  turning  to  me  quickly  and 
speaking  in  a  more  passionate  tone.  "They  want  the 
Jews  to  come  and  settle  here.  And  because  it  is  so  hard 
to  live  here  they  have  lowered  the  rents.  I  save  here  at 
least  two  dollars  a  month.  You  don't  understand.  For 
mother's  journey  we  need  not  only  tickets  and  money 
for  other  expenses,  but  we  also  need  money  for  at  least 
second-hand  furniture.  This  is  not  like  home.  There 
the  house  was  our  own.  And  for  the  lot  and  garden  we 
paid  one  dollar  a  year.  There,  too,  we  were  among 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  107 

friends  and  relatives.  While  here,  if  we  haven't  rent  for 
one  month  we  are  thrown  out  on  the  street.  Do  you 
understand?" 

I  said  I  understood. 


io8  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXVII 

FATHER  began  to  strain  all  his  energy  to  save  the 
money  to  send  for  mother  and  the  children.  In  the  shop 
one  morning  I  realised  that  he  had  been  leaving  out  of  his 
breakfast  the  tiny  glass  of  brandy  for  two  cents  and  was 
eating  just  the  roll.  So  I  too  made  my  sacrifice.  When 
as  usual  he  gave  me  the  apple  and  the  roll,  I  took  the 
roll  but  refused  the  apple.  And  he  did  not  urge  me. 
When  a  cold  grey  day  at  the  end  of  November  found 
him  in  his  light  tan  suit  quite  worn  and  me  in  my  thin 
calico  frock,  now  washed  out  to  a  tan  colour,  we  went 
to  a  second-hand  clothing  store  on  Division  Street  and 
he  bought  me  a  fuzzy  brown  coat  reaching  a  little  below 
my  waist,  for  fifty  cents,  and  for  himself  a  thin  thread- 
bare overcoat.  And  now  we  were  ready  for  the  winter. 

About  the  same  time  that  the  bitter  cold  came  father 
told  me  one  night  that  he  had  found  work  for  me  in  a 
shop  where  he  knew  the  presser.  I  lay  awake  long  that 
night.  I  was  eager  to  begin  life  on  my  own  responsibility 
but  was  also  afraid.  We  rose  earlier  than  usual  that 
morning  for  father  had  to  take  me  to  the  shop  and  not 
be  over  late  for  his  own  work.  I  wrapped  my  thimble 
and  scissors,  with  a  piece  of  bread  for  breakfast,  in  a 
bit  of  newspaper,  carefully  stuck  two  needles  into  the 
lapel  of  my  coat  and  we  started. 

The  shop  was  on  Pelem  Street,  a  shop  district  one 
block  long  and  just  wide  enough  for  two  ordinary  sized 
wagons  to  pass  each  other.  We  stopped  at  a  door  where 
I  noticed  at  once  a  brown  shining  porcelain  knob  and 
a  half  rubbed  off  number  seven.  Father  looked  at  his 
watch  and  at  me. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  109 

"Don't  look  so  frightened,"  he  said.  "You  need  not  go 
in  until  seven.  Perhaps  if  you  start  in  at  this  hour  he 
will  think  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of  beginning  at 
seven  and  will  not  expect  you  to  come  in  earlier.  Re- 
member, be  independent.  At  seven  o'clock  rise  and  go 
home  no  matter  whether  the  others  go  or  stay." 

He  began  to  tell  me  something  else  but  broke  off  sud- 
denly, said  "good-bye"  over  his  shoulder  and  went  away 
quickly.  I  watched  him  until  he  turned  into  Monroe 
Street. 

Now  only  I  felt  frightened,  and  waiting  made  me 
nervous,  so  I  tried  the  knob.  The  door  yielded  heavily 
and  closed  slowly.  I  was  half  way  up  when  it  closed 
entirely,  leaving  me  in  darkness.  I  groped  my  way  to 
the  top  of  the  stairs  and  hearing  a  clattering  noise  of  ma- 
chines, I  felt  about,  found  a  door,  and  pushed  it  open  and 
went  in.  A  tall,  dark,  beardless  man  stood  folding  coats 
at  a  table.  I  went  over  and  asked  him  for  the  name  (I 
don't  remember  what  it  was).  "Yes,"  he  said  crossly. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

I  said,  "I  am  the  new  feller  hand."  He  looked  at  me 
from  head  to  foot.  My  face  felt  so  burning  hot  that  I 
could  scarcely  see. 

"It  is  more  likely,"  he  said,  "that  you  can  pull  bast- 
ings than  fell  sleeve  lining."  Then  turning  from  me  he 
shouted  over  the  noise  of  the  machine :  "Presser,  is  this 
the  girl  ?"  The  presser  put  down  the  iron  and  looked  at 
me.  "I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  "I  only  know  the  father." 

The  cross  man  looked  at  me  again  and  said,  "Let's 
see  what  you  can  do."  He  kicked  a  chair,  from  which 
the  back  had  been  broken  off,  to  the  finisher's  table,  threw 
a  coat  upon  it  and  said  raising  the  corner  of  his  mouth : 
"Make  room  for  the  new  feller  hand." 

One  girl  tittered,  two  men  glanced  at  me  over  their 


no  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

shoulders  and  pushed  their  chairs  apart  a  little.  By  this 
time  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  was  about.  I  laid  my  coat 
down  somewhere  and  pushed  my  bread  into  the  sleeve. 
Then  I  stumbled  into  the  bit  of  space  made  for  me  at 
the  table,  drew  in  the  chair  and  sat  down.  The  men 
were  so  close  to  me  on  each  side  I  felt  the  heat  of  their 
bodies  and  could  not  prevent  myself  from  shrinking 
away.  The  men  noticed  and  probably  felt  hurt.  One 
made  a  joke,  the  other  laughed  and  the  girls  bent  their 
heads  low  over  their  work.  All  at  once  the  thought 
came:  "If  I  don't  do  this  coat  quickly  and  well  he  will 
send  me  away  at  once."  I  picked  up  the  coat,  threaded 
my  needle,  and  began  hastily,  repeating  the  lesson  father 
impressed  upon  me.  "Be  careful  not  to  twist  the  sleeve 
lining,  take  small  false  stitches." 

My  hands  trembled  so  that  I  could  not  hold  the  needle 
properly.  It  took  me  a  long  while  to  do  the  coat.  But 
at  last  it  was  done.  I  took  it  over  to  the  boss  and  stood 
at  the  table  waiting  while  he  was  examining  it.  He  took 
long,  trying  every  stitch  with  his  needle.  Finally  he  put 
it  down  and  without  looking  at  me  gave  me  two  other 
coats.  I  felt  very  happy !  When  I  sat  down  at  the  table 
I  drew  my  knees  close  together  and  stitched  as  quickly  as 
I  could. 

When  the  pedlar  came  into  the  shop  everybody 
bought  rolls.  I  felt  hungry  but  I  was  ashamed  and  would 
not  eat  the  plain,  heavy  rye  bread  while  the  others  ate 
rolls. 

All  day  I  took  my  finished  work  and  laid  it  on  the 
boss's  table.  He  would  glance  at  the  clock  and  give  me 
other  work.  Before  the  day  was  over  I  knew  that  this 
was  a  "piece  work  shop,"  that  there  were  four  machines 
and  sixteen  people  were  working.  I  also  knew  that  I 
had  done  almost  as  much  work  as  "the  grown-up  girls" 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  ill 

and  that  they  did  not  like  me.  I  heard  Betsy,  the  head 
feller  hand,  talking  about  "a  snip  of  a  girl  coming  and 
taking  the  very  bread  out  of  your  mouth."  The  only  one 
who  could  have  been  my  friend  was  the  presser  who 
knew  my  father.  But  him  I  did  not  like.  The  worst  I 
knew  about  him  just  now  was  that  he  was  a  soldier  be- 
cause the  men  called  him  so.  But  a  soldier,  I  had 
learned,  was  capable  of  anything.  And  so,  noticing  that 
he  looked  at  me  often,  I  studiously  kept  my  eyes  from  his 
corner  of  the  room. 

Seven  o'clock  came  and  every  one  worked  on.  I 
wanted  to  rise  as  father  had  told  me  to  do  and  go  home. 
But  I  had  not  the  courage  to  stand  up  alone.  I  kept  put- 
ting off  going  from  minute  to  minute.  My  neck  felt 
stiff  and  my  back  ached.  I  wished  there  were  a  back 
to  my  chair  so  that  I  could  rest  against  it  a  little.  When 
the  people  began  to  go  home  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  had 
been  night  a  long  time. 


112  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXVIII 

THE  next  morning  when  I  came  into  the  shop  at  seven 
o'clock,  I  saw  at  once  that  all  the  people  were  there  and 
working  as  steadily  as  if  they  had  been  at  work  a  long 
while.  I  had  just  time  to  put  away  my  coat  and  go  over 
to  the  table,  when  the  boss  shouted  gruffly,  "Look  here, 
girl,  if  you  want  to  work  here  you  better  come  in  early. 
No  office  hours  in  my  shop."  It  seemed  very  still  in  the 
room,  even  the  machines  stopped.  And  his  voice  sounded 
dreadfully  distinct.  I  hastened  into  the  bit  of  space  be- 
tween the  two  men  and  sat  down.  He  brought  me  two 
coats  and  snapped,  "Hurry  with  these !" 

From  this  hour  a  hard  life  began  for  me.  He  refused 
to  employ  me  except  by  the  week.  He  paid  me  three 
dollars  and  for  this  he  hurried  me  from  early  until  late. 
He  gave  me  only  two  coats  at  a  time  to  do.  When  I 
took  them  over  and  as  he  handed  me  the  new  work  he 
would  say  quickly  and  sharply,  "Hurry !"  And  when  he 
did  not  say  it  in  words  he  looked  at  me  and  I  seemed  to 
hear  even  more  plainly,  "Hurry !"  I  hurried  but  he  was 
never  satisfied.  By  looks  and  manner  he  made  me  feel 
that  I  was  not  doing  enough.  Late  at  night  when  the 
people  would  stand  up  and  begin  to  fold  their  work 
away  and  I  too  would  rise  feeling  stiff  in  every  limb 
and  thinking  with  dread  of  our  cold  empty  little  room 
and  the  uncooked  rice,  he  would  come  over  with  still 
another  coat. 

"I  need  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  he  would 
give  as  an  excuse.  I  understood  that  he  was  taking  ad- 
vantage of  me  because  I  was  a  child.  And  now  that  it 
was  dark  in  the  shop  except  for  the  low  single  gas  jet 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  113 

over  my  table  and  the  one  over  his  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  and  there  was  no  one  to  see,  more  tears  fell 
on  the  sleeve  lining  as  I  bent  over  it  than  there  were 
stitches  in  it. 

I  did  not  soon  complain  to  father.  I  had  given  him 
an  idea  of  the  people  and  the  work  during  the  first  days. 
But  when  I  had  been  in  the  shop  a  few  weeks  I  told  him, 
"The  boss  is  hurrying  the  life  out  of  me."  I  know  now 
that  if  I  had  put  it  less  strongly  he  would  have  paid  more 
attention  to  it.  Father  hated  to  hear  things  put  strongly. 
Besides  he  himself  worked  very  hard.  He  never  came 
home  before  eleven  and  he  left  at  five  in  the  morning. 

He  said  to  me  now,  "Work  a  little  longer  until  you 
have  more  experience;  then  you  can  be  independent." 

"But  if  I  did  piece  work,  father,  I  would  not  have  to 
hurry  so.  And  I  could  go  home  earlier  when  the  other 
people  go." 

Father  explained  further,  "It  pays  him  better  to  em- 
ploy you  by  the  week.  Don't  you  see  if  you  did  piece 
work  he  would  have  to  pay  you  as  much  as  he  pays 
a  woman  piece  worker?  But  this  way  he  gets  almost  as 
much  work  out  of  you  for  half  the  amount  a  woman  is 
paid." 

I  myself  did  not  want  to  leave  the  shop  for  fear  of 
losing  a  day  or  even  more  perhaps  in  finding  other  work. 
To  lose  half  a  dollar  meant  that  it  would  take  so  much 
longer  before  mother  and  the  children  would  come.  And 
now  I  wanted  them  more  than  ever  before.  I  longed 
for  my  mother  and  a  home  where  it  would  be  light  and 
warm  and  she  would  be  waiting  when  we  came  from 
work.  Because  I  longed  for  them  so  I  lived  much  in 
imagination.  For  so  I  could  have  them  near  me.  Often 
as  the  hour  for  going  home  drew  near  I  would  sit  stitch- 
ing and  making  believe  that  mother  and  the  children  were 


114  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

home  waiting.  On  leaving  the  shop  I  would  hasten  along 
through  the  street  keeping  my  eyes  on  the  ground  so  as 
to  shut  out  everything  but  what  I  wanted  to  see.  I  pic- 
tured myself  walking  into  the  house.  There  was  a  deli- 
cious warm  smell  of  cooked  food.  Mother  greeted  me 
near  the  door  and  the  children  gathered  about  me  shout- 
ing and  trying  to  pull  me  down.  Mother  scolded  them 
saying,  "Let  her  take  her  coat  off,  see  how  cold  her 
hands  are!"  But  they  paid  no  attention  and  pulled 
me  down  to  them.  Their  little  arms  were  about  my  neck, 
their  warm  faces  against  my  cold  cheeks  and  we  went 
tumbling  all  over  each  other.  Soon  mother  called,  "Sup- 
per is  ready."  There  was  a  scampering  and  a  rush  to  the 
table,  followed  by  a  scraping  of  chairs  and  a  clattering 
of  dishes.  Finally  we  were  all  seated.  There  was  browned 
meat  and  potatoes  for  supper. 

I  used  to  keep  this  up  until  I  turned  the  key  in  the  door 
and  opened  it  and  stood  facing  the  dark,  cold,  silent 
room. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  115 


XXIX 

IN  proportion  as  life  in  the  shop  became  harder,  it 
also  became  harder  at  home.  I  had  to  do  the  washing 
and  cleaning  at  night  now.  One  night  a  week  I  cleaned 
and  one  I  washed.  I  used  to  hang  my  dress  on  a  string 
over  Mrs.  Felesberg's  stove  to  dry  over  night.  In  the 
morning  I  pulled  it  straight  and  put  it  right  on.  The  rest 
of  the  night  I  slept.  During  these  days  I  could  not  seem 
to  get  enough  sleep.  Sometimes  when  I  remembered 
how  a  few  months  before  mother  had  to  chase  me  to  bed 
with  cries  and  with  scoldings  it  hardly  seemed  true. 
That  time  seemed  so  far  away,  so  vague,  like  a  dream. 

Now  on  coming  into  the  room  I  would  light  the  lamp 
and  the  kerosene  oil  stove  and  put  on  the  soup  to  cook. 
Then  I  would  sit  down  with  my  knees  close  to  the  soap 
box  on  which  the  stove  stood,  to  keep  myself  warm.  But 
before  long  my  body  relaxed,  my  head  grew  heavy  with 
the  odour  of  the  burning  oil  and  I  longed  to  lie  down.  I 
knew  that  it  was  bad  to  go  to  sleep  without  supper.  Two 
or  three  times  father  woke  me.  But  it  was  no  use,  I 
could  not  eat  then.  And  so  I  tried  hard  to  keep  awake. 
But  finally  I  could  not  resist  it.  The  cot  was  so  near, 
just  a  step  away.  I  could  touch  it  with  my  hand.  I 
would  rise  a  little  from  the  chair  and  all  bent  over  as  I 
was,  I  would  tumble  right  in  and  roll  myself  in  the  red 
comforter,  clothes  and  all.  It  was  on  these  nights  that 
I  began  to  forget  to  pray. 

But  it  was  only  during  the  first  part  of  the  night  that  I 
slept  heavily.  After  that  I  was  half  asleep,  half  awake. 
I  was  in  constant  fear  of  being  late  to  work.  Often  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  I  would  wake  up  with  a  start, 


ii6 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

tumble  out  of  bed,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  I  was 
about,  and  run  to  the  clock  which  we  put  on  the  table 
for  the  night.  There  I  stood  peering  at  it  unseeingly 
for  a  long  while.  Gradually  I  would  realise  where  I 
was,  what  I  was  about  and  that  I  must  see  the  time. 
And  only  now  I  could  see  the  hands  of  the  clock  dis- 
tinctly, both  on  the  twelve  perhaps.  How  happy  I  felt 
when  it  was  still  so  early.  With  what  a  feeling  of  joy 
and  relief  I  lay  back  on  the  pillow  and  closed  my  eyes. 
But  if  I  happened  to  wake  near  five  I  would  not  close 
them  again  for  fear  of  oversleeping.  That  was  about 
the  time  that  father  left. 

One  morning  when  I  started  up  into  a  half  sitting  po- 
sition I  saw  at  once  that  the  light  in  the  lamp  was  turned 
up  a  little  and  on  the  table  lay  the  larger  part  of  the  loaf 
of  bread.  And  so  I  knew  that  father  had  gone.  I  peered 
at  the  clock  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  a  quarter  to 
seven,  very  late.  With  my  eyes  half  shut  I  slid  out  of 
bed  hastily  and  began  to  dress,  seeing  all  the  while  the 
boss's  eyes  glaring  at  me  threateningly.  It  did  not  take  me 
long  to  put  on  my  frock,  and  the  coat  I  always  put  on 
as  soon  as  I  had  the  dress  on  because  it  was  so  bitter 
cold  in  the  room.  I  buttoned  every  other  button  on  my 
shoes,  and  just  smoothed  my  hair  back,  leaving  the 
tangles  for  Saturday.  I  broke  off  a  hunk  of  bread, 
snatched  a  piece  of  newspaper  and  blew  out  the  light. 
As  I  felt  my  way  to  the  door  and  through  the  dark  hall  it 
struck  me  how  quiet  it  was  at  the  Felesbergs  and  the  little 
old  woman's  and  all  through  the  house.  At  other  times 
when  I  started  the  whole  building  was  full  of  life.  Now 
as  I  was  passing  I  just  heard  a  door  open  and  close 
softly,  and  a  slight  noiseless  movement  here  and  there. 
In  my  hurry  I  did  not  stop  to  think  about  it  but  hastened 
on.  I  drew  the  street  door  open.  The  next  moment  a 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  117 

fierce  gust  of  wind  tore  it  from  my  hand  and  closed  it 
with  a  bang.  I  had  seen  that  a  heavy  snow  had  fallen 
over  night.  I  stood  for  a  moment  shivering  with  cold 
and  fear.  Then  I  wound  my  braid  around  my  neck  under 
the  collar,  and  pulling  the  hair  over  my  ears  a  little,  I 
drew  the  door  open  again  and  stepped  out  quickly.  There 
were  no  steps.  It  all  looked  flat  and  white.  The  wind 
moaned  and  whistled  and  here  and  there  a  huddled  dark 
form  hurried  along  over  the  white.  I  tucked  my  bread 
under  my  arm,  slipped,  muff-wise,  each  bare  hand  into 
the  opposite  sleeve  and  started  to  run.  I  seemed  to  be 
running  very  fast  and  yet  I  saw  that  I  was  making  little 
headway.  The  wind  was  fearful.  It  struck  against  my 
chest  constantly.  At  one  moment  it  wound  my  calico 
skirt  about  my  knees  and  I  could  not  take  a  step.  The 
next  it  blew  it  way  up  in  the  air  and  I  had  to  put  it 
down  with  my  hands.  I  stopped  and  took  some  minutes 
to  unbutton  my  coat  with  my  stiffened  fingers  and  to 
fold  the  fronts  tightly  over  each  other  on  my  chest.  The 
cold  lay  on  it  like  an  iron  weight  and  I  could  not  breathe. 
Then  I  bent  my  head  before  the  wind  and  ran  on.  Soon 
I  was  exhausted.  "Where  am  I  ?"  I  wondered.  I  stopped 
and  looked  about.  It  looked  so  unfamiliar  with  all  the 
white  under  foot  and  the  rows  of  houses  on  each  side  of 
me  standing  so  still.  They  looked  like  stone  walls.  "It 
is  like  a  prison,"  I  thought.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  was  in  prison  and  the  dark  forms  were  pursuing 
me  and  I  ran  in  terror.  I  turned  this  way  and  that  way, 
not  knowing  nor  heeding  now  where  I  was  going.  My 
skirt  flapped  and  the  wind  blew  the  snow  into  my  face 
blinding  me  as  I  ran.  I  tried  to  run  clear  of  the  walls 
but  I  saw  that  they  were  on  each  side  of  me  enclosing 
me  whichever  way  I  turned.  I  finally  came  into  a  space 
where  I  felt  the  walls  rose  higher  than  ever  and  the  space 


ii8  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

between  grew  narrow.  There  was  something  familiar 
to  me  in  that,  though  I  dared  not  look  about.  I  ran  to  a 
door,  stopped  arid  clung  to  it  and  pressed  my  face  against 
it.  My  eyes  closed.  My  numb  fingers  groped  until 
they  found  and  closed  over  something  which  they  recog- 
nised at  once. 

Instinctively  I  had  run  to  the  shop.  And  now  I  stood 
before  the  door  holding  on  to  the  brown  porcelain  knob. 
I  was  never  so  happy  before  to  see  the  shop  door.  I 
leaned  against  the  door  and  looked  at  the  dark  windows 
of  the  shops  opposite  and  realised  gradually  that  I  had 
left  home  too  early.  "The  shop  must  be  closed,"  I 
thought.  "I  must  wait  here  until  it  opens."  I  pressed  into 
the  corner  of  the  door.  The  wind  kept  flapping  and 
fluttering  my  dress  and  sweeping  the  snow  back 
and  forth  before  me.  Soon  I  felt  my  knees  bending  of 
their  own  accord  and  so  I  sat  down.  I  saw  my  bread 
slip  from  under  my  arm.  It  made  me  feel  a  little  uneasy 
to  see  it  lying  there  on  the  snow.  And  so  I  watched 
it  for  a  moment.  I  put  out  my  hand  to  tuck  my  dress 
about  me  and  I  felt  my  head  lean  back  against  the  door. 
I  was  beginning  to  feel  very  comfortable.  I  seemed  to 
be  sitting  on  something  soft  and  I  no  longer  felt  the  cold. 
The  wind  was  growing  quieter,  and  quieter,  and  the 
street  lights  shone  so  faintly. 

I  felt  a  slight  pressure  on  my  arm,  then  it  became 
heavier.  And  soon  I  felt  myself  being  shaken  quite 
roughly  and  a  familiar  voice  saying,  "For  God's  sake, 
girl,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

It  was  the  presser  from  our  shop.  He  helped  me  up 
and  asked  me  again  what  I  was  doing  there.  I  wanted 
to  explain  but  could  not  move  my  tongue.  So  I  just 
looked  at  him. 

"Come  quickly  into  the  shop,"  he  said.     He  caught 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  119 

hold  of  my  arm,  pushed  the  door  open  and  pulled  me 
along  with  him.  Even  now  I  remembered  that  he  was 
a  soldier  and  tried  to  draw  back.  But  I  doubt  whether 
he  even  felt  my  resistance.  He  drew  me  along  into  the 
hall  and  up  the  dark  narrow  stairs.  He  unlocked  the 
door,  propped  me  up  against  a  wall  and  said,  "Now 
stand  here  until  I  light  the  gas."  When  there  was  a  light 
he  put  me  on  a  chair  near  the  fireplace,  covered  me  up 
with  coats  and  then  began  hurriedly  to  shovel  the  ashes 
out  of  the  grate  into  a  pail.  I  kept  my  teeth  closed  tightly 
and  sat  watching  his  every  movement.  He  soon  had  a 
crackling  fire.  He  lifted  my  chair  close  to  it  and  made 
me  hold  my  hands  out.  I  saw  him  empty  one  little 
bundle  of  wood  after  another  into  the  grate.  "I  won't 
put  any  coal  on  until  you  are  quite  warm,"  he  said;  "it 
would  take  too  long  to  burn  up."  Then  he  mumbled 
to  himself,  "When  he  sees  how  much  wood  I  used  this 
morning  he  will  hang  himself  and  I'll  never  hear  the  end 
of  it" 

When  my  tongue  had  thawed  a  little  I  told  him  how 
I  happened  to  be  out  so  early.  Then  he  asked  me 
whether  I  had  anything  to  eat.  I  remembered  that  I  had 
dropped  my  bread  near  the  door  on  the  snow  and  told 
him  so.  He  went  out  and  found  it.  "Good!"  he  said, 
"you  have  bread  and  I  have  some  slices  of  smoked  sal- 
mon." He  took  it  out  of  his  overcoat  pocket,  wrapped  in 
a  paper,  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  fire,  sat  down  and  held 
it  out  to  me. 

I  said,  "I  don't  care  for  any."  He  looked  offended. 
"If  you  won't  accept  anything,"  he  said,  "it  means  that 
you  would  not  give  anything  of  yours  either."  To  show 
him  that  it  was  not  so,  I  began  at  once  to  break  my  bread 
in  half.  But  my  fingers  were  still  too  numb  so  I  gave  it 


120  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  him.  "Good!"  he  said  again,  "you  will  take  half  of 
my  salmon  and  I'll  take  half  of  your  bread." 

He  cut  the  bread  with  his  penknife  which  he  never 
for  a  moment  let  go  out  of  his  hand. 

"It  is  from  home,"  meaning  from  Russia,  he  said, 
flashing  the  blades  before  me. 

While  we  sat  eating  and  holding  our  hands  to  the 
fire  he  told  me  about  himself.  He  said  that  he  had 
escaped  from  the  Russian  army  a  year  before  and  that 
his  wife  and  two  year  old  little  girl  were  still  in  Russia. 
He  was  trying  to  save  and  send  for  them.  As  I  watched 
his  face  while  he  was  talking  I  wondered  that  I  ever 
disliked  him.  I  thought  now  that  he  had  a  very  kind 
face  and  if  it  were  not  for  his  long  moustache  which  he 
often  twirled,  he  would  have  been  good  looking. 

I  also  told  him  about  father  and  myself  and  mother 
and  the  children  in  Russia.  I  told  him  that  we  hoped  to 
send  for  them  in  the  spring.  "That  is  why  I  am  work- 
ing so  hard,"  I  said,  looking  at  him  earnestly.  He  looked 
at  me  too  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  me.  But 
he  said  seriously,  "Yes,  you  have  to  sweat  for  your 
slice  of  bread."  He  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking 
at  the  door  and  listening.  "There  he  conies,  the  Vam- 
pire," he  said.  "I  hear  his  footsteps  in  the  hall." 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  121 


XXX 

THAT  morning  I  could  not  get  warm  in  the  shop.  The 
boss  gave  me  three  coats  to  do  instead  of  two,  by  mis- 
take I  thought.  I  spread  two  on  my  lap  and  the  third 
I  hugged  close  to  my  chest  as  I  worked  on  it.  I  should 
have  also  liked  to  keep  my  own  coat  on.  But  I  was 
afraid  that  if  he  knew  how  cold  I  was  he  would 
think  I  could  not  do  as  much  work  and  would  send  me 
home  and  make  me  lose  half  a  day's  pay.  Chills  were 
running  up  and  down  my  back  and  I  could  scarcely  bend 
my  fingers  to  hold  the  needle  and  I  pricked  my  thumb. 
My  fingers  were  so  numb  that  I  did  not  feel  it.  Indeed 
I  did  not  know  it  until  I  saw  a  tiny  red  stain  on  the  white 
sleeve  lining.  I  looked  and  looked  at  it,  and  could  not 
at  once  believe  my  eyes  and  my  heart  pounded  with 
fear.  I  wondered:  "Shall  I  take  it  to  the  boss  at  once? 
He  will  make  me  pay  for  it.  How  much  is  a  sleeve 
lining?  Fifty  cents,  perhaps  even  a  dollar."  I  deter- 
mined not  to  show  it  to  him  at  once.  I  finished  it,  folded 
it  and  laid  it  on  the  floor  under  my  chair. 

When  I  finished  the  other  two  coats  I  took  them  over 
to  the  boss.  I  felt  sick  at  the  very  thought  that  he  might 
ask  me  for  the  third  one.  But  he  did  not.  He  looked 
at  me  crossly  and  wanted  to  know  whether  I  was  sleep- 
ing over  my  work. 

All  morning  I  sat  thinking  about  the  blood  stain  and 
wondering  what  the  price  of  a  sleeve  lining  was.  Finally 
I  could  not  stand  it.  I  had  to  know.  I  bent  over  the 
table  toward  Betsy  and  asked  how  much  a  sleeve  lining 
is.  "Why?"  she  wanted  to  know.  "I  am  just  wonder- 


122  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

ing,"  I  said.  She  looked  at  me  sharply.  "Have  you 
damaged  one?"  she  asked. 

My  face  began  to  burn.  I  bent  my  head  low  over  my 
work  and  did  not  answer. 

For  the  noon  meal  all  went  out  except  the  presser  and 
Betsy.  I  pulled  the  coat  out  from  under  my  chair  and 
looked  at  it.  I  was  so  miserable  that  I  could  not  help 
crying.  Betsy  looked  at  me  in  surprise  and  the  presser 
came  over.  I  showed  them  the  stain.  The  presser 
thought  he  could  take  it  out  with  benzine.  He  took  it 
over  to  his  table  and  there  he  rubbed  and  rubbed  it  with 
a  tiny  cloth,  and  held  it  away  from  him,  and  looked  at 
it  from  all  sides.  Finally  he  became  impatient.  "An  un- 
usual thing  a  stain  on  a  coat,"  he  said,  and  flung  it  into 
the  pile  on  the  boss's  table. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  123 


XXXI 

ONE  day  I  noticed  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  whis- 
pering among  the  men  in  the  shop.  At  noon  when  all 
went  out  to  lunch  and  I  ran  out  to  get  a  slice  of  cheese 
for  mine,  I  saw  that  the  men  had  gathered  on  the  street 
before  the  door.  They  were  eating  sandwiches,  stamp- 
ing about  over  the  snow  and  disputing  in  anxious  ear- 
nest whispers. 

In  the  shop  the  boss  looked  gloomier  than  ever. 

"I'll  not  have  any  one  coming  into  my  shop  and  tell- 
ing me  what  to  do,"  he  shouted  to  a  strange  man  who 
came  over  to  his  table  to  talk  to  him.  "This  shop  is  mine. 
The  machines  are  mine.  If  they  are  willing  to  work  on 
my  conditions,  well  and  good,  if  not,  let  them  go  to  the 
devil!  All  the  tailors  are  not  dead  yet." 

At  our  table  Betsy  whispered:  "The  men  joined  the 
union.  The  boss  is  in  a  hurry  for  the  work."  There  was 
a  twinkle  in  Betsy's  usually  lifeless  eyes. 

I  had  no  idea  what  a  union  meant  or  what  all  this 
trouble  was  about.  But  I  learned  a  little  the  next  day. 
When  I  came  in  a  little  after  six  in  the  morning,  I  found 
only  the  three  girls  who  were  at  my  table.  Not  a  man 
except  the  boss  was  in  the  shop.  The  men  came  in  about 
five  minutes  to  seven  and  then  stood  or  sat  at  the  presser's 
table  talking  and  joking  quietly.  The  boss  stood  at  his 
table  brushing  coats  furiously.  Every  minute  or  so  he 
glanced  at  the  clock  and  his  face  looked  black  with 
anger. 

At  the  first  stroke  of  seven  the  presser  blew  a  whistle 
and  every  man  went  to  his  place.  At  the  minute  of  twelve 
the  presser  again  blew  the  whistle  and  the  men  went  out 


124  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  their  noon  meal.  Those  who  remained  in  the  shop  ate 
without  hurry  and  read  their  newspapers.  The  boss 
kept  his  eye  on  us  girls.  We  began  last,  ate  hurriedly 
and  sat  down  to  work  at  once.  Betsy  looked  at  the  men 
reading  their  newspapers  and  grumbled  in  a  whisper, 
"This  is  what  it  means  to  belong  to  a  union.  You  get 
time  to  straighten  out  your  bones."  I  knew  that  Betsy 
had  been  a  feller  hand  for  many  years.  Her  back  was 
quite  bent  over  and  her  hands  were  white  and  flabby. 

The  men  returned  a  little  before  one  and  sat  waiting 
for  the  stroke  of  the  clock  and  the  presser's  whistle.  At 
seven  in  the  evening  when  the  presser  blew  his  whistle 
the  men  rose  almost  with  one  movement,  put  away  their 
work  and  turned  out  the  lights  over  their  tables  and 
machines.  We  girls  watched  them  go  enviously  and 
the  boss  turned  his  back  towards  the  door.  He  did  not 
answer  their  "Good-night."  In  the  dark  and  quiet  that 
followed  his  great  shears  clipped  loudly  and  angrily. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  father  came  home  and 
showed  me  a  little  book  with  a  red  paper  cover  which  he 
took  from  his  breast  pocket.  "This,"  he  said,  "is  my 
union  book.  You  too  must  join  the  union."  He  told 
me  he  had  heard  that  a  few  of  the  feller  hands  had  or- 
ganized, and  a  mass  meeting  was  to  be  held  in  a  hall  on 
Clinton  Street  that  evening.  He  took  me  to  the  door  of 
the  building  at  eight  o'clock,  saw  a  young  woman  enter 
and  told  me  to  follow  her.  As  I  had  no  idea  what  a 
meeting  was  like  or  what  to  expect  I  was  dazed  and 
dazzled  by  the  great  number  of  lights,  the  red  carpet 
covering  the  floor,  and  the  crowd  of  people  already  seated 
on  benches  along  the  walls.  The  middle  of  the  room  was 
not  used. 

I  glanced  about  from  the  doorway  for  a  seat  nearby. 
But  the  only  ones  I  could  see  were  in  front.  And  for 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  125 

this  I  finally  aimed,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  to  left 
and  feeling  painfully  conscious  of  my  shabbiness.  The 
seat  I  was  forced  to  take  was  right  in  front  and  only 
about  two  yards  away  from  the  small  square  platform. 
I  was  so  uneasy  at  being  exposed  from  all  sides  that  it 
was  some  time  before  I  forgot  my  bare  head,  my  red 
hands  with  the  cracked  and  bleeding  skin  and  my  shoes 
with  their  turned  up  noses — already  worn  out  and  still 
too  large  for  me.  By  that  time  a  young  man  was  stand- 
ing on  the  platform  speaking.  I  had  seen  this  young 
man  two  or  three  times  before.  He  lived  on  Cherry 
Street  a  few  doors  away  from  us,  and  Kate  Felesberg 
had  told  me  once  that  he  was  a  "student."  What  he  was 
saying  now  was  something  like  this : 

"Fourteen  hours  a  day  you  sit  on  a  chair,  often  with- 
out a  back,  felling  coats.  Fourteen  hours  you  sit  close 
to  the  other  feller  hand  feeling  the  heat  of  her  body 
against  yours,  her  breath  on  your  face.  Fourteen  hours 
with  your  back  bent,  your  eyes  close  to  your  work  you 
sit  stitching  in  a  dull  room  often  by  gas  light.  In  the 
winter  during  all  these  hours  as  you  sit  stitching  your 
body  is  numb  with  cold.  In  the  summer,  as  far  as  you  are 
concerned,  there  might  be  no  sun,  no  green  grass,  no 
soft  breezes.  You  with  your  eyes  close  to  the  coat  on 
your  lap  are  sitting  and  sweating  the  livelong  day.  The 
black  cloth  dust  eats  into  your  very  pores.  You  are 
breathing  the  air  that  all  the  other  bent  and  sweating 
bodies  in  the  shop  are  throwing  off,  and  the  air  that 
comes  in  from  the  yard  heavy  and  disgusting  with  filth 
and  the  odour  of  the  open  toilets. 

"If  any  of  you  know  this,  and  think  about  it,  you  say 
to  yourselves,  no  doubt,  'What  is  the  use  of  making  a 
fuss?  Will  the  boss  pay  any  attention  to  me  if  I  should 
talk  to  him  ?  And  anyway  it  won't  be  for  long.  I  won't 


126  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

stay  in  the  shop  all  my  life.  I'll — perhaps  this  year,  or 

next .'  Girls,  I  know  your  thought  You  expect  to 

get  married!  Not  so  quick!  Even  the  man  who  works 
in  a  shop  himself  does  not  want  to  marry  a  white-faced 
dull-eyed  girl  who  for  years  has  been  working  fourteen 
hours  a  day.  He  realises  that  you  left  your  strength  in 
the  shop,  and  that  to  marry  you  he  would  take  on  a 
bundle  of  troubles,  and  doctor's  bills  on  his  head.  You 
know  what  he  does  most  often  ?  He  sends  to  Russia  for 
a  girl  he  once  knew,  one  who  has  never  seen  the  inside 
of  a  shop.  Or  else  he  marries  the  little  servant  girl  with 
the  red  cheeks  and  bright  eyes. 

"And  even  if  you  do  marry,  are  you  so  secure?  Don't 
forget  that  your  husband  himself  is  working  in  the  shop 
fourteen  hours  and  more  a  day,  breathing  the  filthy  air 
and  the  cloth  dust.  How  long  will  he  last  ?  Who  knows ! 
You  may  have  to  go  back  to  the  shop.  And  even  worse 
than  this  may  be  awaiting  you.  Your  children  may  have 
to  go  to  the  shop !  And  unless  you,  now,  change  it,  they 
may  have  to  go  back  to  the  same  dull  shops,  the  filthy 
air  and  the  fourteen  hours.  In  the  winter  before  day- 
light your  little  daughter  may  have  to  run  through  the 
streets  in  the  rain  and  the  snow  in  her  worn  little  shoes, 
and  thin  coat.  She  will  stand  trembling  before  the  boss 
in  the  same  dull  shop,  perhaps,  where  you  had  once  stood. 
She  will  sit  in  the  same  backless  chair,  rickety  now,  with 
her  little  back  bent,  for  fourteen  hours." 

He  seemed  to  be  looking  right  at  me.  I  tucked  my  feet 
far  under  my  seat  and  bent  my  head  to  hide  my  tears. 
"Who  is  this  man  ?"  I  wondered ;  "how  does  he  know  all 
this?" 

He  continued :  "Each  one  of  you  alone  can  do  noth- 
ing. Organise!  Demand  decent  wages  that  you  may 
be  able  to  live  in  a  way  fit  for  human  beings,  not  for 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  127 

swine.  See  that  your  shop  has  pure  air  and  sun,  that 
your  bodies  may  be  healthy.  Demand  reasonable  hours 
that  you  may  have  time  to  know  your  families,  to  think, 
to  enjoy.  Organise !  Each  one  of  you  alone  can  do  noth- 
ing. Together  you  can  gain  everything." 

For  a  moment  the  room  was  perfectly  still.  Then 
there  was  a  storm  of  applause  and  the  people  rose  and 
began  to  press  close  to  the  platform.  I  went  to  a  vacant 
seat  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  and  watched  the  people 
going  out  in  groups  and  talking  excitedly.  When  the 
hall  was  almost  empty  I  went  over  to  the  secretary's 
desk.  "I  want  to  join  the  union,"  I  said. 

Our  feller  hands  had  not  been  at  the  meeting  but  they 
too  had  joined  the  union.  And  now  our  shop  was  a 
"strictly  union  shop."  I'll  always  remember  how  proud 
I  felt  when  the  first  evening  at  seven  o'clock  the  presser 
blew  the  whistle  and  I  with  the  other  girls  stood  up  with 
the  men.  But  not  many  girls  joined  the  union.  And  so, 
it  was  soon  broken  up.  During  these  weeks  I  began  to 
go  to  night  school.  I  went  to  the  class  right  from  the 
shop  without  supper,  for  the  doors  of  the  school  closed 
at  half  past  seven.  When  I  came  into  the  class,  the 
lights,  the  warmth  to  which  I  was  not  used,  and  the 
girls  reading  in  a  slow  monotonous  tone,  one  after  anoth- 
er, would  soon  put  me  to  sleep.  Before  I  dropped  off 
the  first  night  I  learned  one  word,  "Sometimes."  It  was 
the  longest  word  on  the  page  and  stood  out  among  the 
rest. 

I  left  the  shop  soon  after  the  union  broke  up.  I  don't 
remember  why  or  how  it  happened.  The  boss  of  the 
next  shop  where  father  found  work  for  me  was  kind. 
The  first  morning  when  I  came  in  to  work,  seeing  the 
girls  put  me  at  the  end  of  the  table  where  it  was  dark, 
he  came  over  and  made  them  let  me  sit  near  the  window. 


128 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"She  is  still  a  little  girl,"  he  said.  "She  must  grow." 
And  at  night  he  told  me  that  I  need  not  stay  after  half 
past  seven.  He  was  kind  to  me  in  other  ways  too.  I 
had  an  unfortunate  habit  of  losing  needles.  It  always 
seemed  to  me  that  I  put  my  needle  away  quite  carefully 
after  I  broke  off  the  thread;  but  when  I  needed  it  again 
I  could  seldom  find  it.  And  as  father  never  gave  me 
more  than  one  or  two  needles  at  a  time  I  was  often  in 
great  distress.  One  day  when  I  lost  my  needle  and  was 
looking  about  on  the  floor,  on  the  table,  and  in  my  dress 
and  feeling  very  miserable,  he  came  over  and  asked  me 
very  seriously,  "What's  wrong?"  I  felt  that  the  time  I 
was  wasting  was  his  and  I  mumbled  guiltily :  "I  lost  my 
needle."  Without  a  word  he  went  over  to  the  men,  bor- 
rowed two  needles  at  once  and  brought  them  to  me. 
After  this  whenever  he  saw  me  looking  about  for  my 
needle,  he  would  take  a  whole  packet  out  of  his  breast 
pocket  and  give  me  one  or  two,  and  say  laughingly, 
"Here,  Ruth,  is  a  needle,  and  don't  look  so  unhappy."  As 
he  was  not  a  tailor  I  knew  that  he  kept  the  packet  of 
needles  to  have  them  to  give  to  me. 

I  felt  happy  in  this  shop.  The  men  sat  at  a  separate 
table  and  I  never  heard  an  unkind  or  obscene  word. 
Every  night  I  had  something  to  tell  father  about  the 
boss's  kindness.  Father  was  glad  that  I  was  so  fortunate 
and  often  told  me,  "Try  your  best  to  keep  this  place." 
And  I  did.  I  worked  as  quickly  and  as  well  as  I  could. 

One  Friday  when  the  boss  was  paying  his  workers  he 
said  to  me,  "Ruth,  I  am  short  of  money.  Do  you  mind 
coming  over  to  my  home  to-morrow  morning  at  ten 
o'clock  for  yours?"  I  said  I  did  not  mind.  Indeed  I 
was  glad  I  could  do  something  for  him  though  it  was  so 
little. 

Since  I  had  been  working  in  this  shop  and  was  not 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  129 

so  hard  driven  and  humiliated,  I  blossomed  out  again. 
My  hair  was  always  well  combed  out  and  on  Saturdays 
I  wore  it  loose.  Now  too  I  was  wearing  new  shoes.  And 
I  had  a  new  navy  blue  cashmere  dress,  the  first  dress 
I  had  ever  had,  that  was  not  home-made  and  too  large 
for  me,  and  it  cost  me  a  week's  wages  and  many  tears. 
But  it  was  worth  it.  It  was  so  pretty  and  gave  me  a 
great  deal  of  joy.  With  this  dress  even  my  yellowish 
brown  coat  did  not  look  so  bad. 

So  dressed,  and  feeling  very  cheerful,  I  started  out 
the  next  morning  a  little  before  ten.  I  ran  and  skipped 
over  the  snow,  and  clapped  my  hands  together  often  to 
keep  warm.  I  found  my  boss  in  a  room  I  thought  gor- 
geous with  its  carpeted  floor  and  upholstered  chairs.  He 
was  alone.  I  saw  and  felt  at  once  that  there  was  not  the 
calm  and  quietness  about  him  to  which  I  was  accustomed. 
He  greeted  me  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  touched  my 
hair  with  his  fingers,  and  then  went  and  sat  down.  I 
remained  standing.  "You  look  very  holiday  like,"  he 
said.  I  thought  he  too  looked  "holiday  like."  He  was 
wearing  a  new  blue  suit,  his  brown  hair  lay  smoother 
than  ever  and  his  dark  reddish  moustache  was  curled. 
After  a  moment  or  so  he  said  quite  abruptly,  "Come, 
Ruth,  sit  down  here."  He  motioned  to  his  knee.  I  felt 
my  face  flush.  I  backed  away  towards  the  door  and 
stood  staring  at  him.  He  too  sat  quite  still  looking  at 
me.  Then  he  rose  and  with  his  usual  slowness  and  quiet- 
ness put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  took  out  a  roll  of  bills, 
counted  off  three  dollars,  and  brought  it  over  to  me  at  the 
door.  "Tell  your  father,"  he  said,  "to  find  you  a  new 
shop  for  to-morrow  morning." 

I  walked  home  weeping  bitterly.  I  did  not  know  what 
I  should  tell  my  father. 

In  my  next  shop  there  was  only  a  single  set     The 


130  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

boss  himself  was  the  machine  operator  and  of  course 
there  was  the  baster,  a  finisher  and  a  presser  and  I  was 
the  feller  hand.  And  at  the  end  of  the  week  the  boss 
would  leave  his  machine  and  run  out  to  Hester,  corner 
Orchard  Street,  the  tailors'  "hangout,"  and  bring  a  man 
for  a  couple  of  days  to  put  the  finishing  touches  on  the 
coats  before  they  went  out  to  the  warehouse.  Shops  of 
this  kind  were  called  "One  horse  wagons." 

This  boss  was  also  single.  He  was  an  ill-natured 
young  man.  He  was  tall  and  so  thin  that  he  looked  all 
dried  up.  He  did  not  trust  any  one,  any  further  than  he 
could  see.  Instead  of  having  his  machine  face  the  win- 
dow, like  other  operators,  he  sat  with  his  back  to  it  and 
faced  the  room  so  that  he  could  see  every  one  of  us.  Me 
he  kept  at  his  machine,  making  me  use  a  corner  of  it,  as 
my  table,  so  that  he  could  have  me  constantly  under  his 
eye.  He  scolded  and  teased  and  swore  from  morning 
until  night.  He  told  us  every  day  in  the  week  that  we 
were  not  earning  our  money,  that  we  were  botchers,  that 
we  had  nothing  to  worry  us,  while  his  hair  was  turning 
grey,  that  every  year  he  was  losing  a  hundred  dollars 
while  we  risked  nothing  and  lost  nothing.  We  were  only 
getting  money  which  we  were  not  earning.  His  voice 
as  he  talked  sounded  through  the  shop  like  the  drone  of 
a  bee — except  that  it  was  full  of  poison.  Bits  of  white 
foam  would  soon  gather  in  the  corners  of  his  thin  mouth. 
And  I  used  to  imagine  that  the  blood  in  his  veins  boiled 
and  bubbled  as  water  boils  and  bubbles  in  a  kettle  over 
a  fire. 

He  employed  only  the  cheapest  kind  of  labor  and  so 
he  was  in  constant  trouble  in  the  warehouse.  He  never 
sent  a  lot  of  coats  without  receiving  some  back  to  fix. 
He  always  made  me  do  the  fixing,  as  my  time  was  the 
least  valuable.  He  would  stand  at  the  back  of  my  chair 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  131 

and  while  showing  me  what  to  do  he  would  pour  out  all 
his  wrath  on  me.  On  these  nights  when  I  rose  to  go 
home  I  could  not  straighten  my  back.  And  though  it 
was  often  bitter  cold  when  I  came  out  on  the  street  I 
walked  home  slowly,  keeping  near  the  wall. 

One  day,  instead  of  bringing  the  work  home  to  be 
fixed  the  boss  took  me  along  to  the  warehouse  and  made 
me  do  it  there.  When  I  told  father  about  it  in  the  even- 
ing he  got  the  idea  that  I  was  a  very  valuable  hand  and 
told  me  to  ask  for  a  raise  on  Friday.  All  week  I  could 
not  get  the  thought  out  of  my  mind,  that  I  must  ask  for 
a  raise.  When  Friday  came  and  it  was  time  to  go  home 
I  kept  putting  off  talking  to  the  boss  until  all  the  other 
workers  were  gone  and  I  was  alone.  At  last  I  put  on  my 
coat  and  went  and  stood  at  his  machine. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  snapped.  I  could  not  get 
the  words  out  of  my  mouth  at  once.  At  last  I  said 
weakly,  "I  want  a  raise." 

He  dropped  the  work  on  his  machine  and  sat  staring 
at  me.  The  light  of  the  gas  jet  over  his  machine  fell 
full  on  his  skeleton-like  face.  The  expression  of  hatred 
in  it  frightened  me,  but  I  stood  still.  Finally  he  said  be- 
tween his  teeth,  "Say  it  again.  Let  me  hear  you  say 
it  again  and  I'll  throw  you  down  the  four  flights  of 
stairs." 

I  went  to  the  door  and  said,  "I  want  my  pay." 

He  bent  his  head  over  his  work  and  said,  "I  haven't 
any  now.  You  will  get  it  Sunday  morning  when  you 
come  to  work." 

When  I  told  it  to  father  he  said,  "When  you  get  your 
pay  Sunday  you  won't  go  there  again." 

Sunday  morning  when  I  came  to  the  shop  I  found  all 
our  men  gathered  on  the  street  before  the  door.  The 
presser  looked  at  me.  "I  am  afraid,  little  girl,"  he  said, 


132 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"you  are  going  to  have  a  rest  now.  The  shop  is  closed 
and  the  boss  is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  We  have  just  sent 
a  man  to  his  home."  Soon  the  man  came  back  and  said 
that  the  boss  had  not  been  seen  in  his  boarding  place 
since  Friday  night  The  presser  looked  at  each  one  of 
us,  one  after  the  other,  "How  long  does  it  take  to  go  to 
Canada?  Twenty-four  hours?  Well,  then,  he  is  prob- 
ably there  now."  The  baster  collapsed  on  the  doorstep. 
He  was  a  grey  little  old  man.  He  had  been  sick  and  this 
week's  wages  were  the  first  he  had  earned  in  a  long 
while. 

I  stood  a  while,  then  I  walked  away  from  the  shop. 

"Where  next,"  I  wondered. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  133 


XXXII 

AND  now  I  came  into  Mr.  Cohen's  shop.  I  had  to 
work  here  as  hard  as  in  any  of  the  other  places.  But  of 
this  shop  I  think  with  pleasure,  because  here  every  one, 
from  Mr.  Cohen  to  the  little  boy  in  knee  pants  who 
came  after  school  hours  to  pull  basting,  was  good  and 
kind.  Here  too  there  was  just  a  single  set.  Mr.  Cohen 
himself  was  the  baster.  All  day  he  sat  on  his  big  table 
with  his  legs  crossed  and  worked  very  hard  to  save  the 
wages  he  would  have  had  to  pay  a  baster,  and  do  his  own 
part  of  the  work  too.  The  machine  operator  was  his 
partner.  He  was  a  small  shy  young  man  with  a  very 
pink  face,  small  black  moustache  and  eyes.  When  he 
was  angry  no  one  ever  paid  any  attention  to  him  because 
he  wasn't  really  angry.  He  could  not  be.  His  name 
was  Fine,  and  Gussie,  the  feller  hand,  used  to  say  that  he 
was  as  fine  as  his  name. 

One  day  Mr.  Cohen  was  showing  me  how  to  make  the 
little  bars  in  the  corners  of  the  coat  pockets.  Finding 
that  I  learned  it  very  quickly,  he  conceived  the  idea  of 
teaching  me  other  parts  of  the  trade  so  that  I  could  help 
out  all  the  "big"  people.  And  so  I  helped  Gussie,  who 
sat  right  opposite  me  at  the  narrow  bench-like  table,  with 
the  felling,  and  she  taught  me  how  to  cross-stitch  labels. 
I  helped  the  finisher  who  sat  next  to  me.  This  was  the 
part  of  the  work  that  father  had  taught  me.  And  Mr. 
Cohen  taught  me  how  to  sew  on  buttons,  which  was  con- 
sidered an  art  in  itself.  For  a  properly  sewed-on  button 
on  a  coat  has  to  stand  up  high  and  stiff  and  straight  as 
though  on  a  leg.  Mr.  Cohen  showed  frankly  that  I  was 
a  valuable  hand  and  that  he  was  pleased  with  me  and 


134  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

paid  me  three  and  a  half  dollars  instead  of  three  which 
I  had  been  getting. 

And  so  now  again  I  lifted  my  head  a  little.  My  work 
was  more  interesting  because  it  had  variety.  I  liked 
variety,  and  I  liked  the  people,  all  except  the  presser. 
He  was  the  only  one  in  the  shop  that  used  vulgar  and 
obscene  language. 

In  this  shop  when  the  time  to  go  home  came  it  used 
to  please  me  to  stay  a  few  minutes  longer.  It  was  al- 
ways Mr.  Cohen's  partner  who  reminded  me  that  it  was 
time  to  go  home.  He  nearly  always  said  the  same  thing. 
"Ruth,  you  look  so  busy!  Aren't  you  going  home  to- 
night?" I  liked  to  hear  him  say  it.  I  liked  to  feel  that 
some  one  was  concerned  about  me.  I  used  to  sit  and 
wait  for  it. 

Sunday  morning  no  one  worked  very  steadily.  The 
men  used  to  talk  over  the  amusements  of  the  day  before. 
I  used  to  hear  them  talk  about  Shakespeare's  plays,  the 
Jewish  theatre,  Jacob  Adler  in  the  Jewish  King  Lear. 
I  listened  to  them  and  wondered,  "Who  is  Shakespeare? 
What  are  plays  ?  Who  is  Jacob  Adler  who  makes  such  a 
wonderful  King  Lear?" 

About  this  time  my  own  Saturdays  became  less  dull 
than  they  had  been.  Aunt  Masha  left  her  place  as  nurse 
girl.  In  reality  she  had  been  a  general  house  maid.  She 
had  had  to  cook,  scrub  and  wash.  She  had  had  to  eat  in 
a  windowless  little  kitchen  at  the  wash  tub  and  sleep 
on  the  floor.  She  said  she  was  utterly  tired  of  this  kind 
of  life  and  wanted  to  try  the  shop.  Father  soon  found 
her  one  where  the  boss  was  willing  to  teach  her  how  to 
fell  coats  on  condition  that  she  would  work  for  three 
dollars  a  week  for  some  time  after.  And  so  she  moved 
into  a  tiny  bedroom  with  two  other  girls  and  I  saw  her 
more  often.  On  a  Saturday  morning  now  she  would 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  135 

come,  supervise  the  washing  of  my  hair,  and  tell  me  quite 
often  that  I  was  as  stubborn  as  ever.  And  in  the  after- 
noon she  would  take  me  along  with  her  to  visit  her 
friends.  Usually  the  young  men  and  women  gathered 
in  some  one's  home  and  spent  the  whole  afternoon  sing- 
ing and  dancing  Russian  dances.  None  of  them  paid  any 
attention  to  me  or  thought  of  asking  me  to  join  them. 
I  used  to  sit  down  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  and 
watch  them.  When  I  learned  the  dance  songs  I  used  to 
sing  for  them,  and  soon  they  began  to  depend  upon  me. 
As  I  sang  I  watched  them  and  longed  to  dance  too. 

Among  the  young  men  there  was  one  who  was  dis- 
tantly related  to  us.  He  had  been  ten  years  in  this  coun- 
try and  he  spoke  English  well.  I  thought  he  was  nicer 
and  more  polite  than  any  of  the  others.  Often  I  sat 
imagining  that  I  too  was  dancing — I  was  the  tall  dark- 
haired  girl  with  whom  this  young  man  usually  danced. 
Sometimes  I  wondered  what  I  would  do  if  he  really 
came  and  asked  me.  One  day  it  occurred  to  me  that 
perhaps  if  I  wished  very  hard  he  would  come.  And  so  I 
sat  singing,  and  wishing,  and  watching.  One  day  when 
I  saw  him  stop  before  me  and  ask  me  to  dance  I  was  not 
at  all  surprised.  It  seemed  quite  natural.  Hadn't  I 
wished  so  hard !  I  never  knew  how  I  went  through  that 
dance.  When  he  led  me  back  to  my  chair  and  I  was 
seated  he  bowed  with  a  slightly  exaggerated  politeness  as 
one  sometimes  does  to  a  child,  and  said  in  English,  pro- 
nouncing each  word  slowly  and  distinctly  so  that  I  should 
understand,  "You— dance — like — a — little — fairy." 

When  Aunt  Masha  and  I  were  alone  I  asked  her, 
"What  is  a  fairy?"  She  did  not  know.  I  asked  many 
of  our  acquaintances  but  no  one  knew  what  a  fairy  was. 


136  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXXIII 

So  a  year  almost  passed  and  spring  came. 

At  home  in  our  village  with  the  first  warm  days  the 
birds  would  return  to  our  neighbourhood  and  we  could 
hear  the  "click,  click"  of  the  storks  that  came  back  to 
build  in  the  old  stump  in  the  cemetery.  In  the  air  there 
was  an  agreeable  smell  of  the  moist  earth  warming  in 
the  sun.  The  earth  seemed  to  swell  and  burst  right  under 
our  feet  so  that  we  could  almost  feel  the  plant  life  push- 
ing its  way  to  the  light  long  before  we  could  see  it. 

Here  with  the  first  warm  days  I  saw  the  children 
on  the  street  appearing  in  lighter  clothing  with  bright 
new  tops  and  jumping  ropes.  They  seemed  more  free. 
Their  laughter  rang  merrily  and  they  responded  more 
reluctantly  to  their  mothers'  calls  to  "come  up  stairs!" 

I  too  longed  to  stay  out.  Many  mornings  as  I  hurried 
to  work  through  the  soft  air  and  early  sunshine  a  sick 
feeling  would  come  over  me  at  the  thought  of  the  shop, 
the  dust-covered,  nailed-up  windows,  the  weight  of  the 
black  heavy  coats  on  my  lap.  In  the  winter  I  had  been 
glad  enough  when  the  coats  were  big  and  heavy.  They 
kept  me  warmer.  But  now  the  coat  on  my  lap  seemed 
to  weigh  a  ton  and  kept  slipping  and  slipping  from  my 
lap  all  day  long  as  if  it  would  drag  me  down.  I  could  not 
make  out  what  was  wrong.  I  felt  depressed  and  tired 
even  when  I  got  up  in  the  morning.  Often  too  I  felt  a 
little  sick  though  nothing  hurt.  One  day  while  standing 
at  Mr.  Cohen's  table  I  bent  down  to  pick  up  something. 
When  I  straightened  again  I  felt  the  blood  in  my  temples 
beat  as  though  with  hammers  and  everything  on  the  table 
seemed  topsey-turvey.  I  had  to  stand  still  with  my  eyes 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 137 

closed  for  some  minutes  before  I  could  see  things  in  their 
right  position  and  places. 

The  next  morning  when  Mrs.  Cohen  brought  her  hus- 
band's coffee,  as  she  did  every  morning,  she  sat  down 
next  to  me  at  our  little  table  to  pull  some  bastings,  which 
she  always  did  when  she  came,  and  began  to  talk  to  me. 
She  asked  me  some  questions  about  my  family  and  my- 
self. I  told  her  I  thought  we  would  soon  send  for  mother 
and  the  children  and  admitted  that  I  had  not  been  well 
for  some  time;  when  I  climbed  steps  my  heart  beat  so 
that  it  pained  and  I  could  not  stoop  down  without  grow- 
ing dizzy. 

Mrs.  Cohen  was  a  middle  aged,  kind  woman,  and  so 
pious  that  not  a  hair  of  her  own  could  be  seen  from 
under  her  light  brown  wig.  She  glanced  at  me  now. 
"You  do  look-  pale,"  she  said,  and  then  advised  me  to  go 
and  see  her  doctor.  I  was  scared.  I  had  never  been 
treated  by  a  doctor  in  my  life.  At  home  the  old  women 
of  the  village  knew  a  charm  prayer  for  every  ailment  and 
grandmother  would  brew  tea  out  of  different  blossoms 
which  we  gathered  in  the  spring. 

In  the  evening  I  told  father  for  the  first  time  that  I 
had  not  been  feeling  well  and  that  Mrs.  Cohen  offered 
to  take  me  to  her  doctor.  Father  took  a  good  look  at  me 
for  the  first  time  in  a  long  while  and  showed  alarm.  He 
told  me  by  all  means  to  go  with  Mrs.  Cohen  and  gave 
me  a  half  dollar  for  the  doctor. 

A  little  before  three  o'clock  the  next  day  Mrs.  Cohen 
and  I  were  in  the  doctor's  office.  He  was  a  big,  blonde, 
clean-shaven  Gentile  man.  He  looked  into  my  eyes  and 
made  me  shake  my  hands  downward  to  see  if  they  would 
grow  pink.  I  shook  and  shook  my  hands  but  they  stayed 
almost  white.  The  doctor  smiled  cheerfully.  "We'll 
soon  fix  you  up,"  he  said ;  "stay  out  in  the  air,  and ." 


138 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Mrs.  Cohen  explained  that  I  worked  in  the  shop  and  that 
my  mother  was  not  here.  "Oh,"  he  said,  looking  dis- 
pleased. He  drew  up  and  stuck  out  his  lips,  put  his 
elbow  on  the  desk,  rested  his  chin  in  one  hand  and  sat 
staring  out  of  the  window  and  drumming.  He  sat  so 
long  that  I  thought  he  had  forgotten  all  about  us.  Finally 
he  caught  up  his  pen  and  quickly,  as  if  to  make  up  for 
lost  time,  wrote  a  prescription.  "Here,"  he  said,  hand- 
ing it  to  me.  "It  will  help  some."  I  held  out  the  half 
dollar.  He  looked  at  it  on  my  palm  for  a  moment,  then 
took  my  hand  in  his  great  big  one  and  put  it  down  play- 
fully and  said,  "That  is  all  right.  But  'feed  up.'  "  This 
was  the  first  time  I  heard  these  two  little  words.  But 
from  now  on  I  was  to  hear  them  often  and  for  many 
years. 

I  stayed  out  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  It  seemed 
strange  to  be  idle  on  a  week  day.  I  sauntered  along 
through  Grand  Street  toward  the  ferry,  looking  into  the 
store  windows. 

That  night  I  sat  up  for  father.  He  laid  the  large 
brown  loaf  on  the  table  when  he  came  and  sat  down 
on  the  chair  alongside  of  it  I  saw  at  once  that  he  had 
something  pleasant  to  tell.  He  was  not  smiling  but  his 
face  looked  all  lit  up.  After  hearing  what  the  doctor  had 
had  to  say  and  cautioning  me  to  take  the  medicine  regu- 
larly he  began  slowly,  drawing  out  his  words  almost  as 
grandmother  had  often  done,  and  smiling  now  quite 
broadly,  "You  know,  Rahel,  I  think  with  this  week's 
wages  we  have  enough  money  for  the  steamer  tickets, 
the  journey  and  a  little  over." 

He  put  his  hand  deep  into  his  pocket,  took  out  the 
long  baggy  purse  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Then  he  drew 
the  white  muslin  curtain  over  the  lower  part  of  the  win- 
dow, and  told  me  to  lift  the  lamp  from  the  bracket  to 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  139 

the  table.  He  began  to  count  and  I  breathlessly  watched 
his  fingers  as  they  turned  back  the  bills. 

"Ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  thirty,"  and  so  on  he  counted. 
Finally  he  said  slowly,  "Yes,  we  have  enough." 

I  could  not  realise  that  it  was  true,  that  we  could  send 
for  them  at  once.  Then  the  thought  came,  "In  three 
months  they  might  be  here!"  I  laid  my  arms  on  the 
table,  buried  my  face  in  them  and  began  to  sob.  Father 
laid  his  hand  gently  on  my  head.  For  once  he  did  not 
scold  me  for  my  tears. 


140  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXXIV 

A  LITTLE  over  two  months  later  father  and  I  stood 
in  line  before  one  of  the  windows  in  the  main  post  office 
on  Grand  Street,  waiting  for  mail.  During  these  two 
and  a  half  months  we  had  sent  the  tickets  and  heard  that 
they  had  been  received  and  that  mother  was  selling  out 
everything  but  the  pillows,  the  linens  and  the  candlesticks. 
Then  a  letter  had  come  saying  that  they  had  started. 
That  night  Aunt  Masha  cried  bitterly.  For  then  we  knew 
that  grandmother  and  grandfather  were  alone,  separated 
even  from  each  other  in  their  old  age.  For  where  she 
went  to  stay  they  would  not  keep  him,  and  where  he 
stayed  they  would  not  keep  her. 

Now  we  were  waiting  to  hear  whether  mother  and 
the  children  had  crossed  the  boundary  safely  or  had  been 
caught  and  turned  back  as  father  had  been  the  first  time 
he  started  for  America.  We  should  have  had  a  letter 
two  days  before.  Father  was  very  pale  as  he  stood  wait- 
ing his  turn.  At  last  he  was  at  the  window  and  the  clerk 
handed  him  a  post  card.  It  was  in  sister's  handwriting. 
She  and  I  did  all  the  corresponding.  Neither  father  nor 
mother  could  write. 

"Read  quickly,"  father  said,  giving  me  the  card  and 
bending  over  me.  His  voice  trembled.  I  spelled  out 
the  words:  "We  crossed  the  boundary  safely — and  we 
are  all  well,  thank  God." 

"Thank  God!"  father  repeated  after  me.  Then  he 
threw  his  head  back  and  laughed  joyously.  "They  will 
soon  be  here." 

One  week  later,  early  on  Saturday,  father,  Aunt 
Masha  and  I  went  looking  for  rooms.  All  day  we 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 141 

walked  about,  climbing  many  stairs.  For  of  most  rooms 
the  rent  was  too  high.  At  last  we  found  a  small  three 
family  rear  house  on  Broome  Street  where  the  two  rooms 
on  the  middle  floor  were  empty.  We  reached  the  rear 
house  by  passing  through  the  long  hall  of  the  front  tene- 
ment, into  a  yard,  and  then  climbing  a  high  stoop.  Both 
rooms  had  windows  facing  the  yard  and  the  rear  win- 
dows of  the  front  tenement.  The  water  was  in  the  yard 
and  had  to  be  pumped.  But  father  saw  many  advantages 
and  I  too  saw  how  I  could  turn  the  tiny  hall  where  the 
upper  tenant  had  to  pass  into  a  kitchen.  So  we  rented 
them  for  seven  dollars  a  month. 

One  morning  a  few  days  later  I  was  not  well  and 
father  told  me  to  stay  home.  (There  were  often  days 
now  when  I  was  not  well.)  I  thought  this  a  golden  op- 
portunity to  clean  "the  new  rooms."  So  I  started  quite 
early  from  Cherry  Street  for  the  house  on  Broome 
Street.  I  borrowed  a  pail  and  a  scrubbing  brush  from 
our  neighbour  in  the  basement  and  went  to  work  on  the 
floors.  They  were  unpainted  and  thick  with  dirt.  I 
scrubbed  and  rinsed,  changing  the  water  often  by  carry- 
ing the  pailfuls  of  dirty  water  into  the  yard  and  pump- 
ing up  fresh  water.  At  first  it  seemed  impossible  that 
I  could  get  them  clean  but  soon  the  grain  of  the  wood 
began  to  show.  When  I  was  on  the  last  little  piece  near 
the  door  I  sat  back  on  my  heels  and  surveyed  the  clean 
wet  boards  with  a  feeling  of  pleasure.  The  clothes  on 
my  back  felt  damp,  and  drops  of  perspiration  were  roll- 
ing from  my  cheeks  down  my  neck.  I  looked  at  my 
hands,  the  palms  and  fingers  were  water  soaked  and 
all  crinkled  up.  I  remembered  mother  saying  that  I 
had  the  hands  of  a  lazy  girl,  and  that  I  touched  soiled 
things  with  my  finger  tips.  "Oh!"  I  thought,  "if  she 
could  only  see  them  now !"  And  with  a  feeling  of  satis- 


142  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

faction  I  dipped  my  hands  into  the  pail  of  black,  muddy 
water  up  to  the  elbows  and  sang  a  song  made  up  on  the 
spot. 

"Oh,  how  I'll  scrub, — how  white  our  floors  will  be." 

In  the  evening  we  parted  from  Mrs.  Felesberg  (not 
without  tears)  and  moved  into  our  new  rooms.  Then  the 
furniture  came.  I  spread  newspapers  over  the  floors, 
tucked  up  my  dress  into  the  belt  and  ran  about  showing 
the  men  where  to  put  each  piece.  The  large  square  table 
went  into  the  centre  of  the  big  room  and  the  six  chairs 
all  around  it,  the  two  folding  cots  were  put  at  the  further 
end  in  the  same  room,  the  big  bed  into  the  bedroom. 
And  I  placed  our  old  kerosene  oil  stove  on  a  new  soap 
box  in  the  little  square  hall,  taking  care  to  leave  at  least 
a  foot  of  space  for  our  neighbours  upstairs  to  pass.  I 
looked  on  this  little  corner  as  "the  kitchen"  and  the  large 
room  as  the  "front  room."  I  longed  for  a  front  room! 

When  the  men  were  gone  father  and  I  looked  about 
our  rooms  and  at  each  other,  and  we  smiled  happily. 

As  the  days  passed  and  the  time  drew  near  for  their 
coming,  I  became  more  and  more  impatient  and  nervous 
and  found  it  more  difficult  than  ever  to  sit  in  one  place  in 
the  shop  and  think  about  the  work.  However,  I  did  not 
always  think  about  it.  Often  as  I  sat  sewing  on  buttons 
or  felling  a  sleeve  lining  I  pictured  them  on  the  steamer 
and  went  over  their  whole  journey  in  my  mind,  sure 
that  it  was  very  much  as  my  own  had  been.  First  I  saw 
them  jogging  along  in  Makar's  straw-lined  wagon  from 
our  village  to  Mintck,  then  travelling  by  railroad  and 
finally  packed  into  a  wagon  of  mouldy  hay  and  driven 
through  swampy  meadows  in  the  dead  of  night,  stealing 
across  the  boundary.  Though  a  year  had  passed  I  could 
still  feel  the  Russian  soldier's  heavy  hand  on  my  back, 
and  hear  his  thick  voice  demanding,  "What  have  you 


WITH    BABY   ON   ONE   ARM,   A    BUNDLE   ON   THE   OTHER. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 143 

here?"  The  answer  a  jingle  of  silver  coins  and  the  thick 
voice  call,  "Drive  on!"  I  pictured  them  sleeping  in  the 
bare,  dirty  little  cots  in  Hamburg.  I  saw  mother  with 
the  four  children  standing  in  the  large  hall  all  day  for 
a  week  and  waiting  for  their  names  to  be  called.  Then 
I  saw  them  in  the  midst  of  a  hundred  others  bent  over  to 
one  side  or  stooping  under  their  bundles,  passing  through 
a  sort  of  tunnel.  Meekly,  and  looking  neither  to  right 
nor  to  left,  they  followed  a  uniformed  person.  "Tramp, 
tramp,  tramp,"  I  heard  the  dull  sound  of  many  feet  and 
two  onlookers  calling  to  each  other,  "The  Emigrants!" 
and  the  echo  calling  back,  "The  Emigrants!" 

"But  now,"  I  thought  joyfully,  "they  are  on  the 
steamer,  very  near  America.  How  will  mother  like 
America  ?  Will  she  be  much  shocked  at  father's  and  my 
impiety?"  For  I  too  was  not  so  pious  now.  I  still  per- 
formed some  of  the  little  religious  rites  assigned  to  a 
girl,  but  mechanically,  not  with  the  ever-present  con- 
sciousness of  God.  There  were  moments  of  deep  de- 
votion, but  they  were  rare. 

Sometimes  when  I  thought  of  it  I  felt  sad,  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  lost  something  precious. 

The  steamer  was  due  on  a  Friday  night,  so  they  would 
have  to  spend  still  another  night  on  it.  That  Friday 
both  father  and  I  came  home  earlier  than  usual.  While 
he  was  washing  up  and  polishing  his  shoes,  and  brushing 
his  clothes,  I  cooked  a  fish  dinner  for  seven  people  for 
the  next  day,  and  at  the  kind  invitation  of  our  neigh- 
bour over  us,  put  it  on  her  ice  into  the  crowded  little  ice- 
box. Then  I  remembered  that  mother  had  no  candles 
to  light  on  the  steamer.  I  would  light  them  here.  She 
usually  lit  five,  one  for  each  child.  So  I  found  a  red 
brick  on  the  street,  washed  it  clean  under  the  pump  and 
used  it  as  a  candle  holder.  We  had  not  bought  any  candle 


144 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

sticks,  as  we  expected  our  beautiful  brass  ones  from 
home.  I  placed  the  clean  brick  on  the  table  in  the  "front 
room,"  covered  now  with  a  new  white  oil  cloth.  Then 
with  a  drop  of  the  hot  tallow  from  each  candle  I  stuck 
them  firmly  on  the  brick  in  a  straight  row.  I  placed  two 
white  loaves  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  and  covered 
them  with  a  clean  small  towel.  I  lit  the  candles  and 
embracing  them  three  times,  I  covered  my  face  with 
my  hands  and  whispered  the  consecration  prayer  for  my 
mother  on  the  steamer.  Then  as  I  looked  around  the 
room  I  felt  for  the  first  time  in  this  country  the  joyous 
Friday  night  spirit  of  the  old  home,  in  the  new  one. 

I  sat  out  in  the  yard  until  father  would  be  ready  for 
supper.  I  watched  the  stars  appearing  one  by  one.  From 
the  open  windows  father's  cheerful  voice  came  chanting 
the  Friday  evening  prayer.  In  the  basement  a  rocker 
creaked  and  a  little  boy  sang,  "Sweet  and  low,  sweet 
and  low." 

The  next  morning  at  ten  o'clock  father  and  I  again 
stood  in  Castle  Garden.  I  do  not  know  whether  Aunt 
Masha  was  with  us  or  not.  As  I  look  back  now  I  can 
only  see  father  and  myself,  he  talking  to  an  officer  and  I 
standing  with  my  face  pressed  against  iron  bars.  In 
what  an  agony  of  joy  and  fear  I  stood  there!  At  first 
I  was  neither  surprised  nor  disappointed  when  I  looked 
about  and  did  not  see  them  at  once.  Feeling  sure  that 
they  must  be  there,  I  could  wait.  Then  it  flashed  through 
my  mind,  "But  perhaps  they  are  not  here !  Perhaps  they 
missed  the  steamer,  perhaps  they  fell  ill!"  Then  I  saw 
them.  It  was  as  I  often  pictured  them.  Mother  with 
baby  on  one  arm,  a  bundle  on  the  other,  and  the  eight 
year  old  boy  at  her  skirt,  was  following  a  uniformed 
American.  She  walked  slowly  with  her  head  a  little 
bent  and  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  Her  face  looked  so 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 145 

uncertain,  as  if  she  were  not  yet  sure  whether  her 
journey  was  at  an  end  and  whether  this  was  the  place 
where  she  would  meet  us.  After  her  came  sister,  quite 
bent  under  a  bundle  on  her  back  and  with  the  little  four 
year  old  girl  holding  on  to  her  skirt.  Though  she  was 
so  bent  under  her  bundle  her  head  was  raised  and  her 
eyes  were  looking  about  eagerly.  Then  they  met  mine, 
and  as  she  recognised  me  she  dropped  her  bundle  and 
ran  screaming,  "Mamma,  there  they  are!  There  they 
are!" 

A  few  minutes  later  I  heard  my  mother's  tearful  joy- 
ous voice  close  to  me,  "Rahel!    Rahel!" 


PART  THREE 


PART  THREE 


XXXV 

FOR  days  father  kept  asking  mother  to  tell  him  about 
herself,  home,  our  friends,  and  relatives.  He  never 
seemed  to  grow  tired  of  hearing  it  and  she  repeated  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  again.  And  I  walked  to  and 
from  the  shop,  spent  the  day  there,  and  what  was  left 
of  the  evening  at  home,  as  though  I  were  in  a  happy 
dream.  Often  during  these  first  days  I  feared  that 
mother's  being  here  was  only  a  dream.  Often  at  such 
moments  I  watched  her  sitting  at  the  window  sewing, 
making  a  little  shirt  perhaps,  out  of  a  bit  of  muslin.  I 
would  go  over  to  her,  lean  up  against  her  a  little  shame- 
facedly, and  ask  her,  "Mamma,  are  you  really  here  in 
America?"  She  understood.  She  would  laugh  a  little, 
press  a  corner  of  the  little  shirt  to  her  eyes  and  say,  "Yes, 
I  am  here."  One  day  she  said  sadly,  "Yes,  all  life  is 
like  a  dream.  To-day  we  are  here,  to-morrow  God 
knows."  Then  she  added,  as  though  she  were  following 
a  thought  in  her  own  mind,  "Ah,  if  I  had  my  youth  to 
live  over  again,  and  if  I  had  only  known  that  I  would 
have  to  be  in  America!" 

"What  then,  mother?" 

"Then,"  she  said,  as  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  and 
fell  on  the  stitches,  "I  would  have  learned  how  to  write 
even  if  I  had  had  to  go  without  bread  sometimes.  Ah, 
if  at  least  I  could  write  to  my  mother!" 

So  even  during  these  happy  days  there  were  tears. 

Mother,  like  Aunt  Masha  and  myself,  and  all  others 

149 


150  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

that  I  have  known,  felt  bewildered  and  uncertain  about 
herself  and  everything  she  did  and  said  during  these  first 
days.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  how  she  looked  up  to  me 
because  I  had  already  been  here  a  year,  and  probably 
showed  off  a  little.  She  treated  me  like  a  grown-up  girl 
and  allowed  herself  in  her  lovely  quiet  way  to  be  guided 
by  me  in  many  little  things. 

The  children  were  a  constant  care  and  delight,  espe- 
cially the  two  little  ones.  It  was  amusing  to  see  how 
they  were  impressed  by  the  different  things.  The  little 
girl,  four  years  old,  thought  it  quite  wonderful  to  have 
water  right  in  the  yard  and  running  so  easily.  So  as 
many  times  a  day  as  she  could  steal  away  she  would 
be  found  at  the  pump  with  her  shoes  and  stockings  off 
pumping  water  over  her  two  little  bare  feet  and  rubbing 
them  industriously.  Once  on  hearing  the  baby — now 
two  years  old — screaming  in  the  yard,  we  ran  out  and 
found  him  lying  flat  on  his  little  stomach  with  his  fair, 
curly  head  under  the  pump  while  the  four  year  old  stood 
at  the  handle,  one  little  hand  pumping  with  great  diffi- 
culty and  the  other  rubbing  his  head. 

Often  in  their  play  they  imitated  what  they  had  seen 
on  their  journey.  Being  lately  from  the  steamer  they 
played  "crossing  the  ocean."  She  was  the  great  ocean 
steamer.  She  would  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  yard,  her 
feet  wide  apart,  her  hands  on  her  little  hips,  rocking 
herself  slowly  from  side  to  side,  and  roaring  with  great 
earnestness  in  imitation  of  the  waves.  Meanwhile  the 
baby  would  drag  the  dish  pan  and  a  wooden  spoon  from 
the  closet  and  strut  around  and  around  the  yard  banging 
on  the  pan  and  crying,  "Metach!  metach!"  in  German, 
announcing  the  meals  on  the  steamer. 

Sister  surprised  me  with  her  fearlessness  in  going 
about  everywhere  and  her  quickness  in  adopting  Amer- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  151 

ican  ways.  She  found  her  way  quite  easily.  She  would 
wash  and  dress  the  children,  curl  their  hair  on  her  finger, 
"American  fashion,"  and  take  them  out  into  the  street 
She  would  take  them  along  wherever  she  went.  She 
never  stole  away  from  them  as  I  had  often  done  from 
her.  She  and  I  shared  one  of  the  cots  in  the  "front 
room."  We  used  to  lie  with  our  arms  about  each  other, 
whispering  until  way  into  the  night. 

The  boy,  eight  years  old,  was  serious  and  sensitive  and 
would  not  stand  for  any  trifling.  He  liked  to  stand  out 
on  the  street  before  the  door  and  observe  life  in  Amer- 
ica. As  no  money  could  be  spared  for  new  clothes  the 
children  had  to  wear  out  what  they  had.  His  shoes,  made 
by  our  village  shoemaker,  were  in  excellent  condition  in 
spite  of  the  rough  treatment  of  fumigation  and  the  wear- 
and-tear  of  the  journey.  But  shoes  more  than  any  other 
article  of  clothing  showed  the  "greenhorn."  And  so 
often  he  was  so  tormented  by  the  children  in  the  street 
that  he  would  come  into  the  house  in  tears.  He  begged 
and  cried  and  demanded  "American"  shoes  but  it  was 
no  use.  So  he  tried  to  see  what  he  could  do  by  knocking 
and  rubbing  them  on  stones.  But  these  shoes  of  the 
homely  strong  Russian  leather  could  stand  it  without 
showing  more  than  a  few  scratches. 

One  day  when  he  went  out  into  the  street  he  did  not 
return  until  dark,  and  then  he  was  in  his  bare  feet.  On 
being  asked  what  he  had  done  with  his  shoes  he  said,  with 
tears  and  an  expression  which  said  that  he  was  prepared 
for  the  worst,  that  he  had  thrown  them  away.  "Where  ?" 
He  did  not  know,  himself.  Fearing  that  under  a  threat 
of  punishment  he  might  be  weak  enough  to  go  and  look 
for  them,  he  threw  them  so  that  he  himself  should  not 
be  able  to  find  them.  He  flung  them,  he  said,  from  a 
strange  roof,  one  in  one  direction,  one  in  the  other.  He 


152  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

told  his  story  and  stood  before  father  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground  ready  to  take  the  punishment  which  he  knew 
would  follow. 

That  evening  when  father  went  out  into  the  street 
he  brought  back  a  black  strap  of  fringed  leather  with  a 
wooden  handle  and  hung  it  up  in  the  big  room  on  the 
door. 

Of  father  and  myself,  I  was  the  more  Americanised. 
Under  pressure  I  could  converse  in  English  a  little  while, 
he  could  not  talk  it  at  all.  So  he  left  translating  the  chil- 
dren's names  to  me.  I  was  delighted.  I  longed  to  call 
them  by  names  that  were  not  only  American  but  also 
unusual.  So  as  I  sat  in  the  shop  I  spent  many  hours 
thinking  and  sounding  each  name  in  my  mind  over  and 
over  again.  But  when  I  finally  decided  on  all  the  names 
I  felt  uneasy  at  the  thought  that  there  was  no  resemblance 
between  the  Hebrew  and  the  English  names.  So  I  just 
translated  them  into  English  after  all.  Sister,  whose 
name  was  Leah,  we  called  Leah;  the  little  four  year  old 
girl  changed  from  Meriam  to  Miriam;  the  baby  was 
Asra.  But  at  least  one  I  could  not  resist  calling  by  an 
uncommon  name.  I  called  the  boy  Morgan,  though  his 
name  translated  was  Ezekiel. 

I  knew  I  had  a  leaning  toward  things  which  I  heard 
people  call  "queer."  I  felt  ashamed  and  hid  it  whenever 
I  was  aware  of  it.  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  desire  to  call 
my  brother  Morgan  but  neither  could  I  bear  to  give  it 
up.  So  I  called  him  by  that  name  only  when  no  one 
was  by  who  was  likely  to  ridicule  me. 

Mother  had  been  here  only  a  short  time  when  I  noticed 
that  she  looked  older  and  more  old-fashioned  than  father. 
I  noticed  that  it  was  so  with  most  of  our  women,  espe- 
cially those  that  wore  wigs  or  kerchiefs  on  their  heads. 
So  I  thought  that  if  I  could  persuade  her  to  leave  off 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  153 

her  kerchief  she  would  look  younger  and  more  up  to 
date.  But  remembering  my  own  first  shock,  I  decided  to 
go  slowly  and  be  careful  not  to  hurt  her  feelings.  So, 
one  day,  when  I  happened  to  be  at  home  and  the  chil- 
dren were  playing  in  the  yard,  and  we  two  were  alone  in 
the  house,  I  asked  her  playfully  to  take  off  her  kerchief 
and  let  me  do  her  hair,  just  to  see  how  it  would  look. 
She  consented  reluctantly.  She  had  never  before  in  her 
married  life  had  her  hair  uncovered  before  any  one.  I 
took  off  her  kerchief  and  began  to  fuss  with  her  hair.  It 
was  dark  and  not  abundant  but  it  was  soft  and  had  a 
pretty  wave  in  it.  When  I  parted  it  in  front  and  gath- 
ered it  up  in  a  small  knot  in  the  middle  of  the  back  of 
her  head,  leaving  it  soft  over  the  temples,  I  was  surprised 
how  different  she  looked.  I  had  never  before  known 
what  a  fine  broad  forehead  my  mother  had,  nor  how  soft 
were  her  blue-grey  eyes,  set  rather  deep  and  far  apart. 
I  handed  her  our  little  mirror  from  Cherry  Street.  She 
glanced  at  herself,  admitted  frankly  that  it  looked  well 
and  began  hastily  to  put  on  her  kerchief  as  if  she  feared 
being  frivolous  too  long.  I  caught  hold  of  her  hands. 

"Mamma,"  I  coaxed,  "please  don't  put  the  kerchief 
on  again — ever!" 

At  first  she  would  not  even  listen  to  me.  But  I  sat 
down  in  her  lap  and  I  began  to  coax  and  beg  and  reason. 
I  drew  from  my  year  of  experience  and  observation  and 
pointed  out  that  wives  so  often  looked  so  much  older 
because  they  were  more  old-fashioned,  that  the  hus- 
bands were  often  ashamed  to  go  out  with  them.  I  told 
her  that  it  was  so  with  Mrs.  Felesberg  and  Mrs.  Cohen. 
"And  this  nice  woman  upstairs,"  I  said  "if  she  would 
only  take  off  her  wig  and ." 

Mother  put  her  finger  on  my  lips. 

"But  father  trims  his  beard,"  I  still  argued.    Her  face 


154  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

looked  sad.     "Is  that  why,"  she  said,  "I  too  must  sin?" 

But  I  finally  succeeded. 

When  father  came  home  in  the  evening  and  caught 
sight  of  her  while  still  at  the  door,  he  stopped  and  looked 
at  her  with  astonishment.  "What!"  he  cried,  half  ear- 
nestly, half  jestingly,  "Already  you  are  becoming  an 
American  lady!"  Mother  looked  abashed  for  a  moment; 
in  the  next,  to  my  surprise  and  delight,  I  heard  her 
brazen  it  out  in  her  quiet  way. 

"As  you  see,"  she  said,  "I  am  not  staying  far  be- 
hind." " 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  155 


XXXVI 

IT  was  "slack"  in  our  shop.  Every  week  Mr.  Cohen 
made  me  stay  home  a  day  or  two.  It  was  slack  all  over 
the  city  at  all  trades.  Writers  and  lecturers  now  refer 
to  that  time  as  "the  memorable  years,  1893-94.  Years 
of  extreme  economic  depression."  We  felt  this  depres- 
sion when  one  day  father  came  home  from  the  shop  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Not  to  alarm  mother, 
who  had  been  here  only  two  months,  he  made  light  of 
the  rumour  that  people  were  out  of  work  all  over  the 
city.  But  when  a  few  weeks  passed  and  he  began  to 
stay  home  three  and  four  days  a  week,  he  looked  openly 
alarmed  and  began  to  talk  of  moving  back  to  Cherry 
Street.  And  when  two  brothers  and  a  sister,  who  were 
from  our  part  of  the  country,  came  one  night  and  asked 
to  be  taken  in  as  "lodgers,"  we  finally  decided  to  do  it. 
So,  with  our  lodgers,  we  moved  into  a  "room  and  two 
bedrooms,"  on  Cherry  Street  again,  this  time  between 
Jefferson  and  Clinton  Streets.  The  rooms  were  on  the 
stoop  in  the  rear.  The  toilets,  for  the  whole  building, 
were  in  the  yard,  facing  our  windows,  the  water  pump 
in  the  street  hall.  The  rent  was  ten  dollars  a  month. 
We  gave  the  two  brothers  the  little  hall  bedroom  with 
the  window,  for  the  sister  a  cot  was  put  up  for  the  night 
in  the  large  room  with  us  children.  They  paid  five  dol- 
lars a  month.  So  now  we  felt  easier  as  our  rent  was 
only  five  dollars  a  month. 

But  our  easy  days  were  not  many.  One  night,  soon 
after  we  had  settled  in  our  new  home,  Mr.  Cohen  called 
me  over  to  his  table,  just  as  I  was  leaving,  and  told  me 
that  he  had  no  work  for  me  for  the  next  day.  This 


156     OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

would  make  three  days  out  for  that  week.  Mr.  Cohen 
saw  that  I  was  troubled  and  began  to  explain. 

"You  see,  Gussie  is  a  woman  and  needs  the  money 

while  you ."  I  felt  irritated.  I  felt  that  because  I 

was  a  child  I  was  paid  little.  And  even  then  they  did 
not  seem  to  think  that  I  needed  the  money,  as  though  I 
didn't  have  to  live  and  help  support  my  people.  I  burst 

out :  "I  too  need  it.  My  people  have  just  come  and ." 

I  felt  miserable.  Gussie  and  I  were  good  friends. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  Mr.  Cohen  said,  quickly,  "take  turns 
then." 

A  week  passed  perhaps  when  again  just  as  we  were 
going  home,  Mr.  Cohen  told  Gussie  that  he  was  sorry  but 
there  was  so  little  work  that  there  was  no  use  of  her 
staying  on.  I  dared  not  look  at  her  face  as  he  talked  to 
her.  When  we  came  out  into  the  street  she  walked  away 
from  me  without  saying  "Good  night." 

One  by  one  I  watched  the  men  in  our  shop  laid  off. 
Finally  there  was  just  Mr.  Cohen  and  his  partner  left. 
Then  my  turn  came. 

A  short  time  after  I  began  to  stay  home  father's  shop 
was  closed  altogether.  Every  day  now  all  over  the  city 
shops  were  being  closed.  Nevertheless  father  went  out 
every  morning,  always  looking  bright,  and  hopeful  of 
rinding  at  least  a  few  hours'  work.  He  would  return  at 
noon  looking  not  quite  so  bright.  He  was  not  discour- 
aged, but  as  week  after  week  passed,  his  face  grew 
thinner  and  the  smile  that  had  always  lit  up  his  whole 
face  became  rare.  But  still  he  spoke  cheerfully.  "This 
can't  last  much  longer,"  he  would  say.  "There  must  be 
an  end  to  it.  It  is  almost  two  months  now." 

All  this  weighed  more  heavily  on  mother.  Her  face 
was  paler,  her  features  stood  out  sharply  and  her  eyes 
seemed  to  have  gone  deeper  into  her  head.  She  was 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  157 

always  serious  and  now  she  looked  as  if  a  dreadful 
calamity  were  hanging  over  us.  "Among  strangers  in 
a  strange  country."  She  began  counting  the  potatoes 
she  put  into  the  pot  and  would  ask  the  children  over 
and  over  again  when  they  wanted  more  bread,  "Are  you 
sure  you  want  it?" 

Two  months  passed  and  a  great  change  seemed  to  have 
come  over  the  people.  The  closed  shops  turned  the 
workers  out  into  the  streets  and  they  walked  about  idly, 
looking  haggard  and  shabby.  Often  as  I  sauntered  along 
through  Cherry  or  Monroe  Street  I  would  meet  some 
one  with  whom  I  had  worked.  We  avoided  each  other. 
We  felt  ashamed  of  being  seen  idle.  We  felt  ashamed 
of  our  shabby  clothes.  We  avoided  each  other's  eyes 
to  save  each  other  pain  and  humiliation.  The  greeting 
of  those  who  could  not  possibly  avoid  one  another  was 
something  like  this,  "What !  A  holiday  in  your  shop,  too?" 
Nor  would  they  remain  talking  long.  Both  would  stand 
looking  away  gloomily  for  a  few  minutes  and  finally 
with  a  short  nod  they  would  walk  apart  dejectedly. 

Every  day  I  saw  on  Cherry  and  Monroe  Streets  grocers 
closing  up  and  women  at  the  pushcarts  haggling  more 
and  more  desperately  over  a  cent. 

"How  much  are  these  bananas?  Five  for  a  cent? 
They  are  not  any  bigger  than  my  finger,  and  the  skin 
is  all  black." 

"Oh,  very  well,  take  six!  Take  six  for  God's  sake 
and  go.  I  haven't  made  a  cent  to-day." 

One  day  as  I  was  walking  on  Grand  Street  toward 
the  Bowery,  I  saw  a  tall,  slim  man,  coatless  and  bare- 
headed, with  a  rag  bag  over  his  shoulder,  bent  over  a 
garbage  can.  There  was  something  familiar  to  me  about 
him.  I  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  and  stood 
looking  at  him.  And  soon  I  remembered.  He  was,  or 


158  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

he  had  been,  a  machine  operator.  He  and  his  wife  had 
been  a  merry  couple  and  they  had  a  sweet  baby  whom 
they  adored.  They  had  lived  in  our  old  338  Cherry 
Street  over  the  Felesbergs.  I  had  often  been  in  their 
home  and  watched  them  singing  and  dancing  with  their 
baby.  Now  I  hardly  recognised  him.  A  ragged  grey 
shirt  covered  his  back.  His  long  thin  body  was  bent. 
His  face  looked  black  and  hollow.  But  what  struck  me 
with  horror  was  that  he  seemed  entirely  unaware  that 
he  was  among  human  beings.  He  acted  as  though  he 
felt  himself  in  a  lone  desert.  Feverishly  he  stood  stirring 
the  can  with  a  stick.  His  eyes  looked  into  it  eagerly,  and 
his  lips  were  moving. 

As  I  recognised  him  I  ran  toward  him  a  few  steps. 
Then  the  full  meaning  of  it  all  struck  me.  I  threw  my 
arms  over  my  head  and  ran  from  him  in  terror. 

One  day  while  mother  and  we  children  stood  out  on 
the  stoop  a  woman  we  knew  came  over  to  us.  She  lived 
by  doing  all  sorts  of  odd  things,  particularly  by  match- 
making and  recommending  girls  to  places  of  domestic 
service.  And  as  she  walked  about  the  street,  attending 
to  her  business,  she  knit  a  stocking.  She  was  a  stout, 
elderly  woman,  and  wore  a  kerchief  tied  under  her  chin 
and  tucked  away  behind  her  ears. 

She  barely  glanced  at  me  and  as  her  eyes  returned 
to  her  quickly  moving  needles,  "Missus,"  she  said,  "I 
have  a  place  for  your  girl  with  a  very  nice  family." 
Mother's  lips  drew  together  tightly.  Without  looking  at 
mother  the  woman  kept  on  talking  in  a  slow  persuasive 
tone.  "There  are  only  six  in  the  family.  They  live  on 
Clinton  Street  near  Grand.  I  think  they  would  pay  her 
six  dollars  a  month.  Will  you  let  her  go?" 

My  mother's  face  was  white.    "No!"  she  shook  her 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  159 

head.  She  climbed  up  the  stoop  steps  and  went  into 
the  house. 

I  followed  her  and  asked,  "Why  don't  you  let  me  go, 
mother?  Out  of  the  six  dollars  we  could  pay  our  share 
of  the  rent  for  a  whole  month  and  have  a  dollar  over." 

She  turned  away  from  me,  leaned  against  the  wall  and 
cried,  "Is  this  what  I  have  come  to  America  for,  that 
my  children  should  become  servants?" 

It  was  three  months  now  since  father  and  I  had  earned 
anything.  We  owed  the  landlord  five  dollars  for  this 
third  month.  We  gave  him  just  what  the  lodgers  had 
paid  us.  What  there  was  left  of  our  own  money  we  kept 
just  for  bread  and  a  little  milk  for  the  two  smaller 
children.  Father  used  to  bring  the  big  round  loaf  of 
bread  from  the  bread  stand  on  Hester  Street  when  he 
came  home  at  night.  We  were  always  in  bed  then  and 
the  light  in  the  lamp  was  turned  low  but  I  was  often 
awake.  Mother  would  sit  up  to  wait  for  him  and  open 
the  door  and  he  would  come  in  on  tip  toe,  lay  the  bread 
on  the  table  and  sit  down  heavily  beside  it.  Then  mother 
would  cut  some  of  the  bread,  sweeten  some  hot  water  in 
a  glass  and  give  it  to  him.  Then  she  would  sit  down 
on  another  chair  near  the  table  and  sit  staring  on  the 
floor  in  front  of  her  while  he  ate  his  supper.  He  used 
to  chew  every  mouthful  a  long  time  and  drink  the  hot 
water  slowly.  Sometimes  in  the  stillness  I  could  hear 
a  deep  half -stifled  sigh. 

They  seldom  spoke.  Once  I  heard  father  ask,  "How 
are  the  children?" 

"How  should  they  be  ?"  she  answered.  "Hanging  onto 
life."  She  covered  her  face  and  sobbed. 

In  the  morning  father  was  gone  on  his  daily  hunt  for 
work  before  we  were  up.  He  no  longer  came  home  at 
noon  now,  for  when  he  was  away  he  did  not  have  to  eat. 


160  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

The  two  older  children,  Leah  and  Ezekiel,  were  going 
to  school  and  the  two  little  ones  we  kept  in  bed  as  long 
as  we  could  that  they  might  be  warm.  For  it  was  win- 
ter now  and  we  had  not  much  covering.  Mother  had 
not  brought  her  five  pillows,  linens  and  candlesticks 
after  all.  She  had  sold  everything  in  Hamburg  for  a 
few  dollars,  hearing  a  rumour  that  she  would  be  allowed 
no  luggage  except  what  she  could  carry.  Then  she  heard 
that  the  rumour  had  been  raised  that  the  emigrants  might 
sell  out. 

When  the  children  came  from  school  they  would  go 
out  on  the  street  and  to  the  docks  and  pick  up  bits  of 
coal,  paper  and  wood  and  then  we  would  make  a  fire. 
We  used  to  put  on  water  to  boil  and  draw  our  chairs 
close  to  the  stove,  to  draw  all  the  warmth  we  could  out 
of  it.  When  our  lodgers  came  home  they  often  com- 
plained of  the  bitter  cold  in  the  house  but  they  were  not 
very  well  off  themselves.  They  made  knee  pants  and 
seldom  had  more  than  two  days'  work  a  week. 

The  small  school  which  the  children  attended  was,  I 
think,  connected  with  a  church  or  a  missionary  society. 
One  day  when  the  children  came  home  they  told  us  that 
any  child  in  the  class  who  would  say  a  prayer  received 
a  slice  of  bread  and  honey.  Mother  looked  at  them 
and  asked  them  to  tell  her  about  it.  Sister  said,  "There 
is  nothing  to  tell.  If  you  just  bow  your  head  as  you 
sit  at  the  desk,  and  repeat  the  prayer  after  the  teacher 
you  receive  a  slice  of  white  bread  and  honey." 

We  heard  a  great  deal  about  the  missionaries  that 
winter.  On  Grand  Street,  at  the  corner  of  Attorney 
Street,  there  was  a  big  store  with  green  shades  which 
were  always  drawn.  In  this  store  we  knew  the  mis- 
sionaries held  a  meeting  every  Saturday.  We  heard  that 
the  head  of  the  missionaries  was  a  baptised  Jew.  I  heard 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 161 

my  parents  express  their  anger  because  they  came  and 
settled  right  in  the  heart  of  the  Jewish  neighbourhood. 
We  children  used  to  run  past  the  store  with  a  feeling  of 
fear  and  then  stand  at  a  little  distance  and  look  at  it. 
I  often  went  back  to  look  inside  through  a  worn  part  of 
the  shade,  and  saw  a  man  standing  up  and  talking  and  a 
few  people  in  the  back  of  the  room  listening.  Week 
after  week  the  man  preached  almost  to  an  empty  room. 
Still  we  hated  to  have  them  in  the  neighbourhood  to 
tempt  our  people. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  father  came  home  and  said 
that  he  had  just  passed  the  missionaries'  store  on  Grand 
Street.  "They  are  doing  good  business  these  days,"  he 
said.  "As  I  passed,  the  door  opened  and  I  saw  the  place 
crowded  with  people."  We  heard  that  any  one  who  went 
there  and  listened  to  the  lectures  received  food  and  cloth- 
ing. 

A  young  man,  who  was  a  friend  of  our  lodgers,  used 
to  come  to  visit  them.  When  he  became  well  acquainted 
with  us  he  would  come  in  at  any  time  during  the  day, 
even  when  his  friends  were  out.  Of  course  he  was  out 
of  work.  It  was  six  months  now  since  he  had  earned 
anything.  He  looked  like  the  rest  of  us,  shabby,  despond- 
ent, half-starved.  If  he  happened  to  come  in  when  we 
were  having  a  meal  mother  always  invited  him  to  eat 
with  us.  He  would  take  the  bread  which,  like  father, 
he  chewed  slowly,  and  often  said,  "This  is  very  good 
bread." 

He  would  sit  and  argue  with  mother,  trying  to  con- 
vince her  that  it  was  no  sin  to  accept  food  from  mis- 
sionaries when  one  was  almost  starving. 

"But  do  they  give  it  to  you?  You  have  to  show  that 
you  believe  with  them,  that  you  accept  their  religion." 


162 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"Even  so,"  he  said.  "The  sin  would  be  theirs  for  mak- 
ing such  demands  from  starving  people." 

After  he  was  gone  mother  said,  "That  is  all  talk.  He 
is  not  religious  but  after  all  he  is  a  Jew.  Oh,  God,"  she 
would  say,  with  a  touch  of  pride,  "one  only  has  to  look 
into  his  sunken  eyes  to  see  starvation  and  yet  he  does 
not  go  to  them." 

Another  month  passed  and  all  our  money  was  gone. 
For  a  week  or  so  we  borrowed  from  our  lodgers  ten  and 
fifteen  cents  at  a  time  until  we  had  a  dollar.  Then  we 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  We  would  not  ask  the  coal 
man  and  the  grocer  to  "trust"  us.  We  had  never 
owed  any  one,  and  father  and  mother  shrank  from  the 
very  thought  of  owing.  Besides,  the  coal  man  and  the 
grocer  hardly  knew  us.  We  had  not  bought  much  coal 
and  bread  was  a  cent  cheaper  at  the  big  stand  on  Hester 
Street.  On  the  morning  when  father  took  the  last  few 
cents  he  went  away  earlier  than  usual.  And  mother 
walked  about  with  slow  shuffling  steps  from  room  to 
room.  As  the  children  were  leaving  for  school  she  asked 
them  without  looking  at  them,  whether  bread  and  honey 
was  still  given  to  the  children  at  school. 

"Yes,"  sister  said,  "to  those  who  bow  their  heads  and 
pray." 

The  boy  was  already  out  of  the  room  when  mother 
called  after  them.  "You  can  bow  your  heads  and  pray." 

Then  she  went  into  her  dark  bedroom. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  163 


XXXVII 

MOTHER  did  not  come  out  of  the  room  that  day.  In 
the  morning  I  was  awakened  by  hearing  her  moan- 
ing. I  lit  the  lamp  and  went  in  and  looked  at  her.  Her 
face  was  red  and  her  chest  rose  and  fell  rapidly.  For 
the  first  time  this  morning  father  looked  really  discour- 
aged when  he  left  the  house.  After  the  two  older  children 
went  to  school  I  tucked  the  little  ones  into  one  of  the 
cots  to  play.  Every  day  they  remained  in  bed  more 
willingly  and  played  more  quietly.  I  gave  mother  some 
water  and  milk  and  went  in  to  ask  our  front  neighbour 
what  I  could  do  for  mother.  She  said  she  would  see 
that  a  doctor  came  and  made  me  understand  that  there 
were  doctors  who  treated  without  a  fee.  And  then  she 
added :  "As  long  as  your  mother  is  ill  you  need  not  fear 
that  the  landlord  will  put  you  out.  It  is  against  the  law." 
I  ran  to  mother  with  the  good  news.  When  I  told  her  she 
looked  at  me  as  if  she  did  not  understand,  so  I  explained : 

"It  is  a  law  in  America  that  when  you  are  sick ." 

Mother  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  gave  an  unpleas- 
ant chuckle  which  ended  in  a  sob. 

The  doctor  came  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I 
lit  the  lamp  and  showed  him  into  the  sick  room.  He 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  it,  looked  about  at  the  walls 
and  the  ceiling,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  After  he 
examined  mother  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 
Finally  he  wrote  out  a  prescription,  said  crossly  that  he 
would  come  again  the  next  day  at  ten  o'clock  and  went 
away. 

When  father  came  home  in  the  evening  and  I  told 
him  that  the  landlord  could  not  put  us  out,  he  told  me 


164  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  use  the  money  which  the  lodgers  had  just  paid  us  for 
the  medicine  and  bread  and  coal. 

Mother  grew  worse.  All  day  I  walked  from  the  chil- 
dren's cot  to  her  room,  where  a  little  lamp  burned  steadily 
now,  and  then  back  to  the  children's  cot  I  felt  as  though 
I  were  in  a  nightmare.  I  never  remembered  mother  ill 
before.  She  was  the  strongest  in  our  family.  And  now 
to  see  her  lying  so  still  with  her  eyes  closed  and  not  even 
moaning,  filled  me  with  terror. 

The  doctor  came  every  morning  at  ten  o'clock.  He 
did  not  tell  me  what  her  illness  was  and  I  dared  not 
ask.  Every  day  he  would  sit  down  on  the  bed,  make  me 
hold  the  lamp  so  that  the  light  fell  on  her  face,  and  sk 
looking  at  her.  And  I  watched  his  face  and  hers  and 
tried  to  understand.  Sometimes  I  saw  mother  trying 
to  rouse  herself  from  her  stupor.  She  would  give  her 
head  a  shake  as  if  she  were  trying  to  shake  something  off. 
I  could  hear  her  teeth  close  tightly  and  her  chin  seemed 
to  square  a  little.  Then  she  would  open  her  eyes  and  I 
saw  for  a  moment  a  steady,  determined  look.  I  had 
often  seen  her  so  when  she  had  something  to  overcome. 
I  understood  that  this  was  the  fight  in  her.  I  re- 
membered the  same  look  when  she  was  planning  father's 
escape  from  the  constable  in  Russia.  And  I  recalled 
seeing  it  one  snowy,  stormy  night  when  one  of  the  chil- 
dren woke  up  choking  with  the  croup  and  she  could  not 
get  any  one  to  go  for  the  doctor.  The  road  lay  through 
a  thick  wood  and  wolves  had  been  seen  there.  So  she 
wrapped  herself  in  a  shawl,  tucked  up  her  skirt,  took  a 
staff  and  started.  At  dawn  she  returned  struggling 
through  the  snow  in  front  of  the  man,  making  a  path  for 
him.  I  noticed  that  the  doctor  always  looked  pleased 
when  he  caught  this  expression.  Gradually  I  began  to 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  165 

understand  that  he  depended  on  the  fighting  spirit  in 
her.    And  I  too  began  to  look  for  it. 

Beside  the  doctor  two  other  people  came  every  day, 
the  landlord  and  the  young  man,  our  lodgers'  friend. 
The  landlord  was  a  gentle,  quiet,  prosperous  looking  old 
man  with  a  white  moustache.  He  wore  fine  black 
clothes,  black  gloves  and  a  high  silk  hat.  It  was  strange 
to  see  him  among  us.  As  long  as  we  had  some  money 
to  pay  he  came  every  week  and  inquired  whether  father 
was  working.  But  now  that  we  had  nothing  to  give 
he  came  every  day.  He  would  knock  gently  on  the  door, 
come  in  on  tip  toes  and  ask  quietly  and  cheerfully,  "And 
how  is  your  mother  this  morning?"  When  I  told  him, 
"The  same,"  he  would  give  a  short  nod  and  tip  toe  out 
with  his  head  bent  a  little  lower.  I  used  to  look  forward 
to  his  coming.  He  was  the  only  person  who  came  among 
us  that  did  not  show  suffering.  I  used  to  wish  he  would 
stay  a  little  and  talk  to  me. 

The  young  man  would  come  in,  ask  about  mother  and 
then  sit  down  on  a  chair  near  the  window  from  where 
he  could  see  the  whole  house,  and  sit  watching  me  as 
I  went  from  mother  to  the  children  and  then  back  to 
her. 

Once  Aunt  Masha  came.  She  was  dressed  in  an  old 
brown  dress  which  in  better  days  she  had  discarded. 
She  stayed  a  little  while,  gave  the  children  a  thorough 
washing  and  went  away.  I  believe  now  that  she  must 
have  come  more  than  this  once,  but  this  time  is  the  only 
one  I  can  recall  during  this  period. 

One  day  a  well  dressed  strange  young  man  came  in. 
He  made  sure  of  our  name  at  the  door  and  then  came 
and  sat  down  at  the  window,  opened  a  little  book  and 
began  to  question  me  about  my  family,  my  father's  name, 
his  trade,  how  long  he  had  been  out  of  work,  how  much 


166  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

he  had  earned,  how  long  mother  had  been  ill  and  so  on. 
As  I  was  answering  his  questions  I  was  in  agony  of 
fear,  wondering  whether  this  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  landlord  and  whether  after  all  we  would  be  thrown 
out  into  the  street.  He  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  and 
I  sat  down  on  the  cot  closer  to  the  children.  The  young 
man  continued : 

"Where  does  your  doctor  come  from?" 

"From  Essex   Street  dispensary." 

"Do  you  need  anything?" 

I  stared  at  him.  He  looked  up  and  asked  over  again, 
patiently, 

"Do  you  need  anything?" 

"Do  we  need  anything!"  I  could  not  believe  I  heard 
right.  It  seemed  such  a  strange  question  and  I  did  not 
answer  and  he  repeated  the  question  in  Yiddish.  I  finally 
did  understand  and  I  heard  myself  say,  "No."  Still 
thinking  that  I  did  not  understand  he  asked : 

"Do  you  need  any  clothes?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Do  you  need  any  shoes?"   He  looked  at  mine. 

"No,"  I  said. 

"Do  you  need  any  food?" 

"No " 

"Have  you  everything?" 

"Everything,"  I  repeated,  but  I  could  not  look  at  him. 

He  wrote  rapidly  for  a  few  minutes  and  then  he  went 
away. 

I  went  in  to  mother  and  bent  over  her,  thinking  that 
perhaps  I  could  tell  her  about  it  The  heat  beat  from 
her  body  and  her  eyes  were  closed.  I  touched  her  and 
she  opened  them.  And  when  I  looked  into  them  I  knew 
she  would  not  understand. 

In  the  evening  when  father  was  home  our  neighbour 


HE  FLUNG   THEM    FROM    A    STRANGE   ROOF. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  167 

brought  in  four  dollars.  "A  strange  young  man  left  it," 
she  said,  and  the  next  day  there  was  a  half  ton  of  coal. 

Friday  came.  Even  now,  as  I  look  back,  it  seems 
to  me  that  weeks  had  passed  since  mother  fell  ill.  And 
yet  it  might  have  been  only  days.  This  morning  she 
lay  in  deep  unconsciousness  and  the  doctor  spent  a  longer 
time  looking  at  her.  After  I  got  the  children  to  play 
quietly  in  a  corner  I  began  to  prepare  for  the  Sabbath. 
There  was  little  to  prepare  as  there  was  no  cooking  to 
do.  I  polished  our  candlesticks  which  we  had  bought 
here,  and  scrubbed  the  floor  in  the  large  room  and  then 
began  to  wash  up  the  floor  in  the  sick  room.  The  light 
of  the  tiny  lamp  hanging  on  the  wall  only  seemed  to  in- 
crease the  gloom.  How  I  wished,  as  I  crept  about  on  my 
hands  and  knees,  that  mother  would  wake  and  see  how 
industrious  I  was,  how  I  was  tormented  for  ever  having 
hurt  her! 

Late  in  the  afternoon  our  lodgers'  friend  came.  When 
I  looked  at  him  I  was  shocked  and  I  knew  that  he  had 
been  to  the  missionaries.  He  was  dressed  in  new  clothes 
from  head  to  foot  and  his  face  was  clean  shaven.  He 
stood  still  with  his  back  against  the  door  for  a  moment 
and  his  face  reddened  as  I  stood  staring  at  him.  He 
asked  his  usual  question  about  mother,  and  took  his 
seat  at  the  window.  And,  as  if  to  try  his  first  sermon 
he  began  to  upbraid  me  for  my  pale  face  and  red  eyes, 
saying  that  mother  would  get  well  much  sooner  if  I 
were  more  cheerful.  Also,  I  ought  to  cheer  up  for  the 
sake  of  the  children, — a  girl  almost  fourteen  years  old 
ought  to  know  better — and  so  on. 

I  bought  two  candles  for  a  cent.  I  had  a  cent  for 
candles,  for  we  could  go  without  bread  but  not  with- 
out consecrating  candles.  I  cut  them  in  half  to  make 
four  and  placed  them  into  the  candlesticks.  When  it 


168  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

grew  dark  I  lit  them,  gave  one  to  each  of  the  children, 
and  we  all  walked  and  stood  beside  mother's  bed.  It 
took  us  a  long  time  to  rouse  her.  We  had  to  repeat  again 
and  again,  "Mother,  this  is  Friday  night."  At  last  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  all  our  faces  one  after 
the  other.  And  when  she  realised  what  we  wanted  her 
to  do,  she  raised  her  hands  but  instead  of  the  usual 
prayer  the  words  came,  "God  have  pity  on  my  children !" 

At  midnight  I  tumbled  out  of  the  cot  thinking  that  I 
heard  her  calling.  When  father  and  I  bent  over  her  we 
saw  that  a  change  had  taken  place.  Her  face  was  paler 
and  was  wet  with  perspiration. 

"Medicine!"  She  made  out  the  word  with  her  lips. 
Father  gave  it  to  her,  and  then  she  told  us  in  that  voice- 
less way  of  the  sick,  that  she  dreamt  her  father  who 
had  been  dead  a  long  while  came  and  brought  her  a 
bottle  of  medicine.  Father's  face  lit  up  with  joy.  "Thank 
God !"  he  said,  "that  was  a  good  dream." 

When  the  doctor  came  the  next  day  and  when  he 
looked  at  mother  a  smile  lit  up  his  cross  face.  Another 
doctor  was  with  him.  "Look  at  this,"  our  doctor  said, 
pointing  to  the  ceiling  and  walls.  "And  she  has  pulled 
through  in  this  room.  God!  but  she  must  have  a  con- 
stitution of  iron!" 

With  his  usual  gruffness  the  doctor  now  ordered 
chicken  soup,  milk  and  wine  for  mother.  And  only  now 
father  went  and  told  our  neighbour  openly  of  our  diffi- 
culties. She  advised  him  hesitatingly  to  go  and  apply  at 
"Eighth  Street."  Eighth  Street  was  how  we  referred 
to  the  United  Hebrew  Charities. 

Monday  morning  after  eating  some  bread  father 
started  for  "Eighth  Street."  He  returned  in  the  evening 
empty  handed  and  sick  with  humiliation.  When  he 
reached  the  building  there  was  already  a  long  line  of 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  169 

people.  He  stood  all  day  waiting  for  his  turn.  He  was 
nowhere  near  the  "window"  when  the  place  closed.  Next 
morning,  he  left  at  dawn.  The  day  passed  and  it  was 
dark  when  we  heard  his  footsteps  in  the  hall.  When  he 
opened  the  door,  we  saw  a  pair  of  chicken  feet  sticking 
out  of  the  bag.  Father  sat  down  at  the  table  and  wept 
like  a  child. 


170 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XXXVIII 

Now  it  was  sister  who  was  supporting  the  family. 
She  ran  errands  for  the  women  on  the  block  and 
"minded"  the  babies.  She  was  eleven  years  old  and 
small  for  her  age,  but  no  one  who  looked  at  her  face 
hesitated  to  trust  her.  Sometimes  a  mother  would  leave 
her  children  with  her  and  go  out  to  work.  And  sister 
would  tidy  up  the  house,  dress  and  feed  the  children  and 
keep  them  out.  Often  when  I  ran  out  for  something,  I 
met  her  in  the  street,  wrapped  in  a  woman's  coat  and 
carrying  one  little  one  on  her  back  while  two  or  three 
others  were  at  her  side.  Her  freckled  small  nose  looked 
pinched,  but  she  would  look  up  so  bravely  with  her  soft 
grey  eyes  as  she  stood  slightly  bent  under  her  burden. 
And  in  the  evening  she  would  bring  home  a  few  nickels. 

One  night  she  was  taken  to  a  wedding  to  take  care  of 
two  children.  The  next  day  we  two  stood  at  the  window 
and  she  was  telling  me  about  it.  That  hour  impressed 
itself  on  my  memory.  It  was  cold  and  raining  but  there 
was  a  good  fire  in  our  stove.  Father,  as  usual  now, 
was  out  "looking  for  work";  the  boy  was  in  school; 
mother,  still  a  convalescent,  was  lying  on  a  cot  napping; 
the  two  little  ones  were  playing  quietly  in  a  corner,  and 
we  two  were  at  the  window.  What  she  had  seen  would 
have  seemed  wonderful  to  her  at  any  time.  In  her  pres- 
ent half-fed  state,  and  in  the  same  worn  little  plaid  dress 
in  which  she  had  come  from  Russia,  she  had  been  almost 
overcome  by  the  sight  of  the  splendours.  Her  eyes  were 
big  and  in  her  voice  there  was  still  expression  of  awe 
as  she  described  the  immense  hall,  the  lights,  the  bride 
in  her  white  lace  veil  and  train,  the  bridegroom  with  a 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  171 

white  flower  in  his  buttonhole.  As  the  children  in  her 
care  were  only  two  and  four  years  they  soon  grew 
tired  of  running  up  and  down  the  slippery  floor.  So 
she  had  to  go  early  to  the  little  retiring  room  at  the  back 
of  the  hall.  This  room  was  almost  dark.  There  was 
a  little  table  and  a  couch.  On  the  couch  a  few  children 
were  already  sleeping  so  she  sat  down  on  the  floor  oppo- 
site the  door  with  one  child  in  her  lap,  pillowed  the  other 
against  her  side  and  sat  and  rocked  them.  She  sat 
rocking  them  all  through  the  night.  The  children 
weighed  heavily  against  her.  But  sometimes  when  she 
could  raise  her  head  a  little,  she  watched  the  dancers 
passing  the  door. 

"The  women  looked  so  beautiful,"  she  said,  "in  pink 
or  blue,  or  white  silk ;  and  their  hair  shone  as  they  danced 
by.  When  the  music  was  low  I  could  hear  them  laugh- 
ing, they  looked  so  happy !" 

She  looked  thoughtfully  for  a  moment  into  the  yard. 
The  rain  was  splashing  down  on  the  red  roofs  of  the 
toilets.  From  a  line  a  few  pieces  of  clothes  were  flap- 
ping. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "how  it  feels  to  be  happy!" 

Soon  after  this  the  agent  came  again  and  told  mother 
that  she  had  a  place  for  me.  This  time  mother  had  to 
let  me  go.  I  did  not  mind  going.  It  was  not  only  that 
we  were  in  dire  need,  I  wanted  to  know  how  it  felt  to 
be  a  servant;  also  how  the  rich  people  lived.  There  was 
no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the  family  where  I  was  going 
would  be  rich.  How  else  could  they  keep  a  servant? 

I  packed  a  few  things  into  a  newspaper  and  mother 
went  with  me  to  the  door.  She  neither  cried  nor  spoke 
but  when  I  looked  at  her  I  knew  what  she  was  suffering. 
We  all  felt  as  if  I  were  going  a  great  distance  away.  I 


172     OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  

kissed  the  children,  and  sister  ran  out  and  watched  me 
from  the  stoop  as  I  walked  away  with  the  agent. 

This  family  also  lived  on  Clinton  Street,  near  Broome. 
Their  name  was  Corlove.  Mrs.  Corlove  was  a  tall,  an- 
gular woman  with  a  yellowish  complexion  and  sharp 
grey  eyes.  She  engaged  me  for  two  months  and  I  was 
to  receive  six  dollars  for  the  first  month  and  seven  for 
the  second. 

When  the  agent  was  gone  she  told  me  that  the  baby 
whom  she  was  rocking  was  two  weeks  old  and  that  the 
floors  were  dirty  because  there  had  been  a  party  the  day 
before.  Then  she  gave  me  an  old  skirt  and  told  me 
where  to  find  a  pail  and  brush.  There  were  three  rooms. 
The  kitchen  and  bedroom  had  windows  looking  into  a 
courtyard  but  it  was  as  dark  in  there  as  in  our  window- 
less  bedroom  at  home.  And  I  had  to  scrub  them  by  gas 
light. 

When  I  was  through  Mrs.  Corlove  looked  under  the 
bed  and  into  the  dark  corners  of  the  kitchen,  and  I  saw 
that  she  was  pleased. 

There  were  six  people  in  the  family.  Besides  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Corlove  and  their  three  children,  Mrs.  Cor- 
love's  brother  lived  with  them.  I  sat  down  to  supper 
with  them  at  the  table.  There  was  soup,  meat,  potatoes 
and  a  heaping  plate-ful  of  bread.  I  felt  almost  overcome 
at  the  smell  and  abundance  of  the  food.  But  I  clasped 
my  hands  in  my  lap  and  waited  for  the  others  to  begin. 
At  the  first  mouthful  I  remembered  that  there  was  noth- 
ing but  bread  at  home,  and  I  could  not  swallow. 

Directly  after  the  dishes  were  put  away  Mrs.  Cor- 
love gave  me  two  old  quilts  and  a  pillow  and  showed  me 
how  to  make  a  bed  of  chairs  in  the  kitchen.  This  room 
connected  the  bedroom  and  the  "front  room"  where  a 
flaring  gas  light  burned  and  the  family  sat  up  talking. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 173 

I  heard  the  clock  strike  eleven  when  they  went  to  bed. 
This  was  Wednesday  night.  I  fell  asleep  thinking  that 
I  would  ask  Mrs.  Corlove  for  half  of  my  wages  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning  and  take  it  home  so  that  mother 
could  use  some  of  it  for  the  Sabbath. 

The  next  day  I  rose  early  and  worked  all  day.  I  swept 
and  dusted,  polished  the  stove  and  the  candlesticks.  I 
washed  some  of  the  clothes  and  prepared  the  vegetables 
for  supper.  And  all  the  time  I  kept  thinking  about  the 
money  and  could  not  get  up  courage  to  ask.  So  I  kept 
putting  it  off  from  minute  to  minute.  Each  new  piece 
of  work  I  began  I  told  myself :  "When  I  get  through 
with  this,  I'll  surely  ask." 

So  the  day  passed  and  again  it  was  after  supper.  I 
felt  disgusted  with  myself.  I  realised  that  I  was  ca- 
pable of  putting  it  off  forever.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
I  must  do  it  suddenly  without  giving  myself  time  to 
think.  As  this  thought  came  I  fairly  ran  into  the  kitchen 
where  Mrs.  Corlove  was  and  asked  her  breathlessly: 

"Will  you  please  give  half  of  my  wages  in  advance?" 

She  looked  at  me  hard  and  said  she  would  talk  it 
over  with  her  husband.  Soon  I  was  called  into  the  front 
room.  I  stood  before  them  and  they  both  looked  at  me. 
Mrs.  Corlove  said: 

"You  may  take  the  money  to  your  people  Saturday." 

My  heart  sank  and  I  stood  without  being  able  to  say 
a  word.  Then  I  heard  Mr.  Corlove  ask :  "Do  you  want 
it  sooner?"  His  voice  was  kind.  I  nodded  my  head. 
He  took  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  counted  off  six 
dollars  and  gave  it  to  me.  I  crammed  it  into  my  hand 
and  hastened  into  the  kitchen  where  my  little  shawl  hung 
on  a  nail.  I  wrapped  it  around  my  head  and  shoulders 
and  ran  out. 

I  could  have  sung  for  joy  as  I  went,  half  running, 


174  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

half  walking.  I  held  my  hand  with  the  money  against 
my  breast  under  the  shawl.  I  had  never  had  so  much 
money  in  my  possession. 

"What  will  mother  buy?"  I  wondered.  "Perhaps 
meat  and  a  Sabbath  loaf  and  candles." 

I  could  see  them  all  sitting  around  the  table  covered 
with  a  white  cloth  and  bright  with  the  candlesticks  and 
the  lights,  and  I  could  hear  father  saying  grace  over  the 
white  loaf. 

I  went  into  the  house  without  knocking.  Everything 
looked  so  strange  to  me,  as  though  I  had  been  away  a 
long  time.  The  lamp  in  the  bracket  burned  dimly  and 
was  smoking  a  little  and  there  seemed  so  little  life.  I 
could  not  help  comparing  this  home  with  that  other 
brightly  lit  cheerful  home. 

The  children  came  running  to  meet  me  at  the  door. 
I  felt  their  loving  arms  about  me,  and  mother,  both 
frightened  and  glad,  asked:  "What  is  the  matter!  You 
are  all  out  of  breath!"  Then  I  opened  my  hand  and 
showed  them  what  I  had. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  175 


XXXIX 

LIVING  with  the  Corloves  was  a  great  change  for  me. 
At  home  I  had  been  spared  all  the  hard  work  for  my 
health  had  continued  to  be  poor.  But  now  I  was  sud- 
denly treated  not  only  as  if  my  strength  were  normal 
but  unlimited.  I  rose  when  the  men  rose  to  go  to  work, 
and  as  they  had  to  come  into  the  kitchen  to  wash  at  the 
sink,  I  would  creep  into  the  niche  behind  the  stove  to 
dress.  On  Monday  morning,  as  I  crouched  there,  I 
listened  for  Mrs.  Corlove's  footsteps  and  the  thud  of 
the  big  bundle  of  clothes  on  the  floor.  When  I  heard 
it  I  crept  out  quickly,  whether  completely  dressed  or  not, 
and  my  work  began.  I  carried  up  the  coal  from  the 
cellar  and  made  the  fire,  I  lifted  the  boiler  half  filled 
with  clothes,  I  washed  and  scrubbed  all  day  long.  When 
night  came  I  crept  gladly  in  between  the  two  soiled  quilts 
on  my  chairs.  And  though  the  house  was  full  of  life,  for 
the  gas  lights  flared,  the  people  talked  and  the  children 
ran  races  from  room  to  room,  I  slept.  Tuesday  and 
Wednesday  I  ironed.  On  Thursday  I  scaled  the  fish 
and  plucked  and  cleaned  the  fowl.  Soon  my  hands  grew 
red  and  coarse  and  I  was  no  longer  repelled  at  touch- 
ing soiled  or  mushy  things.  I  would  run  out  to  the  store 
with  my  hands  covered  with  flour  or  black  with  the 
scrubbing  water,  for  Mrs.  Corlove  could  never  wait  for 
me  to  wash  them. 

One  Thursday,  while  I  was  cleaning  out  the  fowl, 
she  called:  "Run  to  the  store  quickly  and  never  mind 
your  hands."  As  I  was  running  down  the  stoop 
steps  I  thought  I  caught  sight  for  a  moment  of  my 
mother's  face.  It  looked  so  pale  in  the  light  of  the 


176  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

street  lamp.  I  had  been  thinking  of  her  and  in  my  pres- 
ent haste  and  usual  absent-mindedness,  I  thought  that 
I  was  still  seeing  her  in  imagination  and  did  not  stop  to 
look  but  ran  across  to  the  grocer's.  But  a  few  minutes 
later,  as  I  was  coming  back,  I  was  more  alive  to  things, 
and  the  thought  of  that  moment  took  more  concrete 
form.  I  thought  that  I  must  have  really  seen  her  and 
that  it  would  be  just  like  my  mother  to  come  and  stand 
there  hoping  to  see  me.  I  ran  to  the  shadowy  spot  near 
the  street  lamp,  but  no  one  was  there.  The  next  moment 
I  caught  her  hiding  in  the  hall  of  the  next  building. 

Mother  managed  it  so  that  I  should  see  some  one  or 
other  from  home  often.  Usually  it  was  my  sister  and 
brother.  They  would  knock  timidly  on  the  door  and 
come  in  holding  each  other  tightly  by  the  hand  and 
remain  standing  near  the  door.  I  felt  timid  and  humble 
myself  in  this  house.  But  to  see  them  hurt  me  so  that 
I  often  wished  mother  did  not  send  them.  Mrs.  Cor- 
love  would  usually  call  to  them:  "Come,  sit  down,  chil- 
dren." Then  she  would  pick  out  an  apple  from  the  glass 
bowl,  which  usually  stood  on  the  table,  cut  it  into  four 
parts,  give  us  each  a  quarter  and  put  the  fourth  quarter 
back. 

Little  by  little  I  began  to  know  Mrs.  Corlove  and  the 
rest  of  the  family  too.  I  thought  her  an  excellent  house- 
wife but  exacting  and  in  other  ways  too  not  over-gen- 
erous to  me.  She  always  doled  out  the  food  on  my 
plate.  It  was  usually  the  tail  of  the  fish,  the  feet  and  the 
gizzard  of  the  chicken,  the  bun  to  which  some  mishap 
had  occurred.  And  she  would  look  through  the  whole 
bowl  of  apples  to  find  for  me  a  spotted  one.  She  rarely 
failed  to  remark  at  meals:  "What  an  enormous  appetite 
you  have !"  She  always  said  it  with  a  smile  of  surprise 
as  if  she  were  merely  interested.  So  she  covered  every 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  177 

act  with  a  coating  of  kindness.  Sunday  was  wash  day  so 
she  would  send  me  to  bed  early  on  Saturday  night  and 
without  supper.  For  that  night  no  regular  meal  was 
prepared  because  we  had  "a  good  dinner."  The  first 
two  or  three  times  she  exclaimed:  "Surely  you  cannot 
be  hungry  after  such  a  meal !"  After  that  she  did  not 
need  to  say  it.  I  used  to  lie  awake  and  try  to  make 
believe  there  was  no  food  in  the  house.  I  had  never 
found  making  believe  so  hard  as  in  those  days,  for  all 
the  time  I  kept  seeing  the  sweetened  bread  in  the  bread 
box.  Late  that  night  I  would  see  the  family  sit  down  to 
tea  and  cake. 

It  was  hard  to  see  sweetmeats  and  food  about  and  not 
take  them.  Perhaps  if  I  had  had  enough  even  of  coarse 
food  the  temptation  would  not  have  been  so  great.  But 
I  could  never  eat  enough  even  of  bread  with  Mrs.  Cor- 
love's  eyes  watching  me.  And  if  you  were  only  fourteen, 
and  perhaps  even  if  you  were  older,  you  too  would  be 
likely  to  begin  thinking  of  a  way  to  take  it.  You  would 
say  perhaps,  "After  all,  she  never  told  me  not  to  take  it." 
And  if  you  did  remember  her  forbidding  eyes  you  would 
say  to  yourself :  "Perhaps  I  only  imagined  it."  At  any 
rate  that  was  the  way  I  reasoned  one  day,  when  Mrs. 
Corlove  went  to  the  butcher  and  there  was  a  cold  cracker 
dust  pan  cake  in  the  pan  on  the  stove.  For  weeks  I 
had  watched  Mrs.  Corlove  bake  these  pan  cakes.  I  had 
often  had  to  carry  plateful  after  plateful  to  some  one  or 
other  in  the  family,  and  I  could  see  the  steam  rising  from 
them  and  the  tiny  drops  of  hot  butter  breaking  up  like 
bubbles.  At  these  moments  the  desire  to  taste  them  was 
so  strong  that  it  was  a  pain.  And  this  time  there  was 
one  such  cake  left  over  as  if  to  tempt  me.  It  was  morn- 
ing. I  went  about  sweeping  and  dusting  and  all  the  time 
I  could  see  the  cake  on  the  pan.  Finally  I  went  to  the 


178  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

stove  and  stood  looking  at  the  cake  and  tried  to  imagine 
how  it  would  taste  cold.  My  mouth  watered  and  I  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  Then,  as  if  of  its  own  accord,  I 
saw  my  hand  go  out  and  take  it. 

No  sooner  was  the  act  done  than  I  felt  like  Eve,  per- 
haps, after  she  ate  the  apple.  I  took  the  two  steps  into 
the  dark  corner  near  the  stove  and  pressed  my  face 
against  the  wall. 

Mrs.  Corlove  missed  the  pancake  immediately  on  her 
return.  She  said  nothing  but  she  gave  me  a  look  and 
a  smile  that  hurt  more  than  blows  could  have  done. 

Mrs.  Corlove's  brother  was  a  big  ill-natured  fellow. 
His  sister  put  up  with  all  his  whims  and  she  seemed  fond 
and  proud  of  him.  I  used  to  hear  her  boasting  to  her 
friends  that  he  was  musical.  He  was  a  machine  operator 
and  when  he  was  not  working  he  would  sit  for  hours 
in  the  rocker  in  the  front  room  playing  "After  the  Ball 
is  Over"  on  the  accordion. 

Mr.  Corlove  was  quite  different  from  his  family.  He 
was  gentle  and  kind  to  everybody.  When  he  was  in  the 
house  I  did  not  feel  so  timid  and  liked  to  come  out  of 
the  dark  kitchen  into  the  front  room.  He  was  a  foreman 
in  a  large  clothing  shop  and  when  he  found  that  I  knew 
of  the  shop  he  spoke  to  me  as  to  a  fellow  worker 
of  the  same  trade.  He  often  took  my  part  against  his 
brother-in-law  who  enjoyed  making  me  get  up  from  the 
table  and  wait  on  him.  He  even  defended  me  against 
his  wife. 

I  had  learned  during  the  first  days  that  being  Mrs. 
Corlove's  servant  meant  that  I  was  everybody's  servant. 
When  Mrs.  Corlove's  relatives  came  to  the  house  they 
ordered  me  about  as  freely  as  Mrs.  Corlove  herself.  But 
I  never  gave  this  a  thought.  This  was  her  home  and 
they  were  her  guests. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  179 

One  day  a  sister-in-law  of  hers  was  moving.  A  few 
days  before  Mrs.  Corlove  told  me  to  take  the  pail  and 
brush  and  go  scrub  the  floors  in  the  new  rooms.  I  sel- 
dom fully  realised  things  until  they  had  happened  and 
were  past.  And  now  too,  not  until  I  was  in  the  empty 
rooms  and  saw  the  filthy,  hard  trodden  floors,  did  I  fully 
perceive  the  injustice  of  Mrs.  Corlove's  order.  Then  I 
sat  down  on  the  floor  and  cried  passionately.  I  cried 
not  only  for  this  but  for  many  other  things  which  I 
could  not  understand  or  understood  but  vaguely.  I  cried 
until  I  was  again  patient  and  meek.  Then  I  went  on  my 
knees,  scrubbed  the  floors  and  went  home. 

The  gas  was  already  lit  in  the  kitchen  and  Mrs.  Cor- 
love was  preparing  supper.  She  looked  at  my  face  with 
surprise  when  I  came  in  but  said  nothing.  I  went  about 
helping  with  the  supper  and  keeping  out  of  sight  as  much 
as  I  could.  But  Mr.  Corlove  had  not  been  in  the  house 
two  minutes  when  he  asked  his  wife:  "What  is  the 
matter  with  her?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  she  said  lightly,  "Fannie,  you  know, 
is  going  to  move  to-morrow." 

"Well?" 

"So  I  sent  her  to  scrub  her  floors." 

He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  and  looked  at 
her  as  if  he  did  not  understand. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  drawing  out  his 
words,  "that  you  sent  her  to  scrub  Fannie's  floors?" 

"Oh,  three  little  floors!" 

I  never  imagined  that  a  man  so  quiet  and  gentle  could 
look  so  angry.  His  dark  eyes  flashed  fire  and  he  said 
hard  things.  Late  that  night  from  my  chairs  I  heard 
them  talking  this  thing  over,  as  I  had  often  heard  them 
talk  other  things  over. 


i8o OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"Every  one's  comfort  is  more  to  you  than  mine,"  she 
sobbed. 

"You  know  it  is  not  so."  His  voice  was  very  tender. 
"You  don't  seem  to  realise  how  unjust  it  was  to  the 
girl.  You  hired  her  to  do  your  work,  not  Fannie's,  and 
she  is  still  but  a  child.  Supposing  it  was  our  little 
Tynke !"  His  voice  dropped  so  low  that  I  barely  caught 
the  words:  "Who  knows,"  he  said,  "to-day,  it  is  this 
man's  daughter ;  to-morrow,  it  might  be  ours." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  I  heard  the  little  girl's  crib 
moved  and  I  knew  that  the  mother  moved  it  closer  to 
her  bed. 

Near  the  end  of  my  second  month  I  remember  a  beau- 
tiful day  in  March.  Mrs.  Corlove  rarely  left  the  house 
but  on  this  bright  warm  day  she  took  all  the  children 
and  went  out  and  I  was  left  there  for  the  first  time  quite 
alone.  It  was  Wednesday  afternoon  and  I  was  sitting  at 
the  window  making  barley  noodles.  It  seemed  so  quiet 
after  the  hustle  and  bustle  of  preparation  to  go  out.  I 
chopped  and  listened  to  the  rhythmical  sound  of  my  two 
knives  and  watched  the  streak  of  sunlight  on  the  window 
sill  which  came  slanting  in  between  the  two  tenements. 

Gradually  I  began  chopping  more  and  more  slowly. 
Finally  I  laid  down  the  knives  and  rested  my  hands  on 
the  edge  of  the  bowl.  I  saw  that  my  hands  were  coarse 
and  red,  and  here  and  there  where  the  skin  was  cracked 
they  were  raw.  I  remembered  how  I  had  wanted  to 
know  how  it  felt  to  be  a  servant  and  I  laughed  at  myself. 

"I  should  not  like  to  be  a  servant  all  the  time,"  I 
thought.  I  looked  out  of  the  window  and  gradually  I 
began  to  reason  it  out.  I  realised  that  though  in  the 
shop  too  I  had  been  driven,  at  least  there  I  had  not  been 
alone.  I  had  been  a  worker  among  other  workers  who 
looked  upon  me  as  an  equal  and  a  companion.  The  only 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  181 

inequality  I  had  ever  felt  was  that  of  age.  The  evening 
was  mine  and  I  was  at  home  with  my  own  people.  Often 
I  could  forget  the  shop  altogether  for  a  time,  while  as 
a  servant  my  home  was  a  few  hard  chairs  and  two  soiled 
quilts.  My  every  hour  was  sold,  night  and  day.  I  had 
to  be  constantly  in  the  presence  of  people  who  looked 
down  upon  me  as  an  inferior.  I  felt,  though  in  a  child's 
way,  that  being  constantly  with  people  who  looked  upon 
me  as  an  inferior,  I  was,  or  soon  would  be  an  inferior. 
I  was  looked  upon  as  dull,  nothing  was  expected  from 
me  and  I  would  have  nothing  to  give.  The  pancake  in- 
cident had  made  a  deep  impression  and  had  been  tor- 
menting me.  I  understood  that  under  these  conditions 
and  in  this  atmosphere  what  had  happened  once  was 
bound  to  happen  again.  Little  by  little  I  would  become 
used  to  it  and  not  mind  it.  My  whole  being  shrank  from 
this  and  similar  things  to  which  it  might  lead.  I  realised 
that  I  could  not  boast  many  qualities.  But  to  what  I  had, 
even  if  it  were  only  not  to  be  sly,  I  clung  with  all  my 
strength.  "No,"  I  concluded,  taking  up  the  knives,  and 
beginning  to  chop  quickly  to  make  up  for  the  time  lost, 
"I  would  rather  work  in  a  shop." 


182  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XL 

A  FEW  days  later  I  left  the  Corloves.  My  belongings 
were  wrapped  in  a  newspaper  and  tucked  under  my  arm, 
and  I  had  seven  dollars  in  my  hand.  I  stopped  on  the 
stoop.  The  sun  shone  and  the  April  breeze  felt  like  a 
caress.  It  seemed  strange  not  to  have  to  hurry.  Only 
now  did  I  realise  how  tired  I  was.  I  felt  my  hands  burn 
and  my  whole  body  tremble  a  little. 

I  stood  looking  about,  feeling  both  joy  and  regret. 
For  I  left  the  Corloves  not  with  indifference.  I  had 
grown  fond  of  the  children,  and  even  Mrs.  Corlove 
herself,  as  I  grew  to  know  and  understand  her,  I  did  not 
dislike  her.  But  what  a  joy  it  was  to  know  that  I  was 
free !  Father  would  find  work  for  me  at  once,  for  there 
was  now  a  sprinkling  of  work  over  the  city  and  he  him- 
self was  working  at  last.  But  this  day  at  any  rate  was 
before  me.  How  I  loved  the  sun !  I  walked  home  slow- 
ly, basking  in  it. 

Before  many  days  passed  I  was  working  in  a  shop 
on  Canal  Street.  Father  had  not  yet  been  working  a  full 
week.  But  after  the  hardship  we  had  suffered  eight 
dollars  every  week  seemed  a  fortune.  Mother  began 
paying  off  what  we  owed  the  landlord  and  she  even  man- 
aged to  save  a  few  cents  every  week  for  a  piece  of 
material  to  make  up  a  little  dress  for  whichever  one  of 
us  needed  it  most.  The  children  were  going  to  school 
and  things  were  running  smoothly. 

But  it  was  not  for  long.  Soon  again  mother  went 
about  her  work  looking  worried  and  perplexed  and  we 
children  were  again  aware  of  the  darkness  in  the  bedroom 
and  that  the  sun  never  came  into  the  big  room.  "Per- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  183 

haps,"  mother  sighed,  "a  human  being  must  not  have  it 
comfortable  long  or  he  would  forget  God." 

This  was  the  trouble:  with  the  coming  of  the  warm 
days  my  health  became  so  poor  that  I  had  to  stay  away 
from  work  quite  often.  Mother  was  the  more  alarmed 
because  she  could  not  understand  what  was  wrong.  There 
seemed  nothing  wrong.  But  the  slightest  exertion  made 
my  temples  throb  and  my  head  go  around.  The  shop 
where  I  was  working  now  was  on  the  top  floor.  I  would 
stand  long  and  look  up  the  stairs  before  beginning  to 
climb.  It  seemed  like  a  dream  that  I  ever  ran  up  and 
down  stairs  for  pure  amusement.  Then  came  a  morn- 
ing when  I  could  not  get  up  at  all.  I  stayed  in  bed  two 
days  and  mother  made  inquiries  and  found  that  Gouver- 
neur  Street  Dispensary  was  not  far  away  and  "quite 
free."  So  on  the  third  morning,  which  was  Monday, 
she  helped  me  dress  and  we  started.  Many  times  on  the 
way  we  had  to  stop  to  rest  on  door  steps.  At  last  we 
came  to  a  small  ground  floor  building  near  Gouverneur 
Street  dock.  A  policeman  stood  at  the  door  and  a  few 
people  were  in  line.  We  took  our  places  and  the  police- 
man told  us  the  door  would  open  at  nine  o'clock. 

I  stepped  a  little  out  of  the  line  to  lean  against  the 
wall.  The  sun  was  beating  down  strongly  on  our  heads, 
but  from  the  water  a  refreshing  breeze  came  up  and 
we  could  hear  the  boats,  while  from  a  reddish,  smoke 
covered  building  came  the  cry  of  geese. 

Mother,  too,  was  looking  around.  She  was  easily  in- 
terested in  everything  about  her.  She  remarked  now : 
"That  must  be  a  slaughter  house,"  and  then,  partly  per- 
haps to  take  my  attention  away  from  myself,  she  mo- 
tioned sadly  to  the  line.  This  was  our  first  experience 
with  a  Dispensary. 

There  were  three  people  in  the  line  ahead  of  us.  Next 


184 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  me  was  a  man  with  his  arm  in  a  sling  who  looked  like 
an  Irish  dock  laborer.  Next  to  him  another,  with  saw- 
dust clinging  to  his  clothes,  wavered  unsteadily.  The 
first  was  a  woman  whose  home  I  knew  was  the  dark  hall- 
way and  the  park  bench. 

As  we  were  going  in  the  policeman  handed  us  each 
a  red  cardboard  ticket  with  a  black  number  on  it.  I 
saw  the  woman,  as  she  passed  him,  raise  her  chin  and 
steady  her  step.  We  all  sat  down  on  the  first  bench.  I 
leaned  against  my  mother,  closed  my  eyes,  and  sat  wait- 
ing for  my  turn. 

This  doctor,  like  the  first  I  had  seen,  raised  my  eye- 
lids and  asked  how  long  I  had  been  so  pale.  He  ad- 
vised mother  to  feed  me  up  and  keep  me  outdoors.  I 
translated  what  he  said  and  mother  asked  timidly,  "Ask 
him  what  is  the  matter."  He  understood  and  answered 
in  German  "Anemia." 

And  now  I  became  mother's  first  care.  She  saved  on 
food  that  the  others  needed  and  bought  milk  and  meat 
for  me,  and  that  I  might  be  able  to  eat  it  in  peace  she 
would  take  the  children  out  of  the  house.  Often  the 
little  girl  would  refuse  to  go  out.  She  would  raise  herself 
on  tiptoe  to  look  into  my  plate  and  lisp  wistfully: 
"I  wish  I  were  sick." 

In  a  few  weeks  I  was  strong  enough  to  go  to  the  shop 
again.  But  what  took  weeks  to  build  up  I  lost  in  a  few 
days  and  soon  again  I  was  staying  home,  this  time  going 
to  the  Dispensary  regularly.  As  I  stood  there  in  line  or 
sat  on  the  bench  in  the  waiting  room,  waiting  for  my 
turn,  I  grew  to  know  many  of  the  people  who,  like  my- 
self, came  often,  and  to  be  familiar  with  every  nook 
and  corner  in  the  room.  I  came  every  week  and  one 
week  was  exactly  like  another.  There  was  the  same 
room,  many  of  the  same  people,  and  each  time  the 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 185 

same  thing  happened.  First,  on  coming  into  the  waiting 
room,  we  would  all  sit  down,  heavily.  After  this  it  be- 
came very  still  in  the  room.  I  would  close  my  eyes  for 
a  moment  with  a  feeling  of  relief  at  having  my  feet  off 
the  floor.  Then,  rested  a  moment,  I  would  look  about  at 
the  others.  I  knew  at  once  from  their  faces,  and  even 
from  their  unconscious  backs,  I  could  gather  who  was 
better,  who  was  worse,  and  who  was  the  same.  Then  I 
would  look  about  the  room.  There  was  the  same  un- 
painted,  cleanly  scrubbed  floor,  the  shining  brass  knobs 
of  the  two  doors  on  the  right,  and  the  one  on  the  left, 
and  the  tiny  staircase  leading  up.  Then  again  I  would 
study  the  men  and  women,  more  slowly  this  time,  and 
aware  now  of  every  sound  and  motion,  a  hand  unsteadily 
raised  to  the  forehead,  a  half  suppressed  cough  sounding 
loud  in  the  stillness,  a  patient  sigh,  a  feverish  look.  Next 
as  the  time  of  waiting  lengthened,  I  became  aware  of 
the  air  in  the  room,  the  hot  breath  of  sick  people  mixed 
with  the  odour  of  medicines,  the  breath  of  tobacco  and 
stale  whiskey.  At  this  period  of  waiting  I  lost  my  inter- 
est in  everything,  my  spirit  had  sunk  with  a  heavy  de- 
pression. Of  the  rest  of  the  people  some  dozed  heavily, 
some  moved  about  restlessly  in  their  seats  and  others,  like 
myself,  were  given  over  to  dull  apathy. 

Then  one  of  the  doors  on  the  right  would  open  quickly 
and  cause  a  stir  on  the  benches,  and  a  wave  of  new  life 
passed  through  the  room.  I  loved  to  watch  the  patients 
coming  out  of  the  doctor's  office.  Every  face  looked 
brighter,  more  hopeful. 


i86  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XLI 

WHEN  we  finished  paying  what  we  owed  the  land- 
lord, our  lodgers  moved  away,  and  we  moved  again  into 
three  rooms  on  the  same  block  but  nearer  to  Clinton 
Street.  We  were  glad  to  find  rooms  so  near,  for  we 
could  save  the  moving  expenses.  Late  one  night  when 
father  came  home  from  work  he  and  mother  carted  over 
the  furniture  on  a  push  cart,  the  children  carried  the 
clothes  and  pots  and  pans  in  their  arms  and  I  stayed 
in  the  new  rooms  and  put  things  in  their  places  as  they 
came  in. 

We  liked  moving  from  one  place  to  another.  Every 
one  on  Cherry,  Monroe  and  other  streets  moved  often. 
It  meant  some  hard  work  but  we  did  not  mind  that  be- 
cause it  meant  change  in  scenery  and  surroundings. 
None  of  the  places  were  pretty  and  most  of  them  were 
dingy.  But  moving  even  from  one  dingy  place  to  an- 
other is  a  change.  And  then,  too,  some  were  less  dingy 
than  others.  Here,  for  instance,  the  living  room,  instead 
of  being  painted  an  ugly  green  that  had  made  everything 
look  dark,  and  that  had  depressed  our  spirits,  was  a 
bright  pink.  Also  there  were  two  windows  facing  the 
street  through  which  the  sun  came  in.  And  if  there  was 
less  privacy,  for  the  rooms  were  on  the  stoop,  just  a  few 
steps  above  the  sidewalk,  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  down 
near  the  window  and  watch  the  people  passing  by. 
Across  the  street  there  was  a  blacksmith  shop.  I  liked 
to  listen  to  the  ding,  ding  of  the  hammers  beating  in 
unison  and  we  could  see  the  sparks  flying.  Sometimes  a 
bright,  healthy,  young  face,  all  covered  with  grime,  was 
pressed  against  the  heavy  grating  of  the  blacksmith  shop 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  187 

window.  One  day  the  young  man  saw  me  looking  over 
and  he  grinned.  Cherry  Street  is  not  a  wide  street  and 
he  probably  saw  my  embarrassment  for  he  threw  his 
head  back  and  laughed  heartily.  All  these  things  were 
important  when  I  was  fifteen  years  old  and  we  lived  on 
Cherry  Street. 

The  first  neighbour  with  whom  we  became  acquainted 
in  this  house  was  the  dressmaker  who  lived  across  the 
hall.  Her  husband  was  a  carpenter.  Whenever  he  was 
not  working  I  would  see  him  sitting  at  the  window  read- 
ing a  book.  One  day  when  I  went  in  to  see  the  Raisens 
I  found  that  the  husband  was  out  and  the  book  was 
lying  on  the  table.  I  had  long  been  curious  about  it  and 
now  I  took  it  up  and  sat  down  at  the  window.  Of  course 
it  was  in  Yiddish.  I  began  to  spell  out  the  words.  I 
had  not  read  since  I  came  to  this  country  and  had  almost 
forgotten  how.  But  as  I  read  line  after  line  it  became 
easier  and  easier  and  soon  I  forgot  all  about  everything 
and  did  not  hear  Mrs.  Raisen  working  at  the  machine, 
her  three  little  ones  romping  about  the  room,  the  clatter- 
ing of  the  heavy  trucks  passing  the  window  and  the 
ding,  ding  from  the  blacksmith  shop.  I  became  aware 
of  these  things  again  only  when  I  heard  Mrs.  Raisen 
saying,  "Girl,  you  are  blinding  your  eyes."  Then  I  looked 
up  and  saw  that  night  had  come. 

I  found  from  Mr.  Raisen  that  these  books  could  be 
borrowed  from  soda  water  stand  keepers,  if  one  left 
fifteen  cents  security  and  paid  five  cents  for  the  reading 
of  the  book.  I  listened  to  all  the  details  with  discourage- 
ment. For  when  could  I  hope  to  have  twenty  cents  saved ! 
Nevertheless  I  began  to  save,  or  rather,  I  determined  to 
put  away  the  very  first  cent  I  had.  But  in  the  meanwhile 
I  watched  out  for  Mr.  Raisen's  book.  He  rarely  forgot 
to  put  it  out  of  sight  for  he  had  three  mischievous  little 


i88  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

children.  But  whenever  I  saw  it  on  the  table  I  would 
go  in  and  read  it. 

At  last  one  night  I  brought  home  my  first  volume.  I 
took  the  lamp  out  of  the  bracket,  placed  it  on  the  table, 
and  opened  the  book.  I  had  told  the  stand  keeper  to 
give  me  anything  as  long  as  it  was  with  vowels.  For  I 
had  only  learned  to  read  the  Hebrew  print  that  had 
the  vowels.  These  consisted  in  dots  and  lines  printed 
under  each  letter. 

In  the  meantime  the  children  gathered  around  me  and 
mother  came  over  with  her  sewing  and  looked  at  me 
disapprovingly,  sadly,  "What  a  child  you  are,"  her  eyes 
seemed  to  say.  "How  little  sense  you  have.  If  you  had 

spent  this  money  on  nourishing  food "  And  again, 

"True,  you  did  not  ask  for  the  money,  you  saved  it.  But 
where  did  it  come  from?" 

I  understood  this  as  plainly  as  if  she  had  uttered  the 
words.  Poor  mother,  she  was  often  worried  over  how 
to  live  and  save  on  our  six  or  seven  dollars  and  over  my 
health.  And  so,  partly  with  the  hope  of  cheering  her  up 
a  little  and  partly  to  draw  her  attention  away  from  my- 
self and  a  possible  scolding,  I  began  to  read  aloud.  In 
a  few  minutes  I  looked  up  and  saw  her  stitching  quickly 
on  the  little  dress  she  was  mending.  I  could  see  she 
was  listening  but  the  sad  look  had  not  left  her  eyes.  But 
when  again  I  looked  up  the  little  dress  lay  forgotten  in 
her  lap  and  on  her  face  there  was  a  healthy  look  of 
interest  and  curiosity.  The  only  stories  she  had  ever 
heard  before  were  from  the  Bible. 

From  that  time  many  happy  evenings  were  ours. 
Mother  always  listened  reluctantly,  as  if  she  felt  it  were 
a  weakness  to  be  so  interested.  Sometimes  she  would 
rise  suddenly  during  the  most  interesting  part  and  go 


WOMEN    AT   THE   PUSH-CARTS    HAGGLED    MORE   AND    MORE 
DESPERATELY  OVER  A  CENT. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 189 

away  into  the  dark  kitchen.  But  soon  I  would  catch  her 
listening  from  the  doorway. 

And  I  lived  now  in  a  wonderful  world.  One  time  I 
was  a  beautiful  countess  living  unhappily  in  a  palace, 
another  time  I  was  a  beggar's  daughter  singing  in  the 
street.  Of  course  we  never  drew  more  than  one  little 
book  a  week,  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  pages  for  five 
cents.  But  I  got  all  I  could  out  of  it.  I  read  it  aloud, 
I  reread  it  to  myself  and  I  lived  it  when  I  was  not  read- 
ing. Almost  every  book  had  a  song  or  a  poem.  These 
I  learned  by  heart,  found  appropriate  melodies  for  them 
out  of  the  great  stock  of  Russian  peasant  songs  that  I 
knew,  and  when  Aunt  Masha  and  her  friends  came  on  a 
Saturday  I  would  sing  to  them.  Mother  always  seemed 
uneasy  when  she  heard  these  songs,  and  sister  would 
look  at  me  with  astonishment  and  her  truthful  eyes 
seemed  to  say,  "Oh,  how  can  you!" 

I  did  feel  guilty  but  the  next  time  they  came  I  had  a 
new  song  for  them. 

One  day  when  I  went  to  change  my  book  the  stand- 
keeper  looked  over  his  three  shelves  of  books,  high  over 
his  stand,  and  said  finally,  "I  don't  believe  I  have  an- 
other book  with  vowels." 

"No  more  books!"  I  pictured  an  impossible  existence 
in  our  house  without  the  joy  of  reading.  "Look  well," 
I  begged  him. 

He  stood  up  on  a  high  stool  and  began  rummaging 
about  on  the  top  shelf.  "Here,"  he  said,  "is  the  last  one, 
and  I  don't  think  you  will  like  it.  It  is  a  thick,  clumsy 
volume." 

A  thick  volume!  Could  a  book  be  too  thick?  And 
what  did  the  clumsiness  matter! 

"Let  me  see  it,"  I  said,  controlling  my  eagerness.  For 
I  had  learned  that  people  were  often  charged  according 


igo OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  the  desire  they  showed  for  the  article.  I  turned  to 
the  first  page  of  the  story  and  read  the  heading  of  the 
chapter:  "I  am  born." 

Something  in  these  three  little  words  appealed  to  me 
more  than  anything  I  had  yet  read.  I  could  not  have 
told  why,  but  perhaps  it  was  the  simplicity  and  the  inti- 
mate tone  of  the  first  person.  I  had  not  yet  read  anything 
written  in  the  first  person. 

My  eager  fingers  turned  to  the  title  page  and  I  uttered 
the  words  half  aloud,  "David  Copperfield.  By  Charles 
Dickens." 

"I'll  take  it,"  I  said.  I  laid  the  five  pennies  on  the  zinc 
covered  soda  counter  and  walked  away  slowly,  expecting 
and  fearing  to  hear  the  standkeeper's  voice  calling  after 
me  and  demanding  an  extra  five  cents  because  the  book 
was  so  thick.  But  when  the  danger  of  that  was  passed  I 
fairly  ran  home  with  my  prize. 

What  a  happy  two  weeks  we  spent!  We  lived  little 
David's  life  over  with  him.  Mother  cried  when  he  and 
Peggotty  bade  each  other  farewell  through  the  keyhole, 
and  then  she  laughed,  at  her  tears,  remembering  that  it 
was  "only  a  story."  And  as  I  sat  in  the  shop,  felling 
sleeve  lining,  I  would  go  over  in  my  mind  what  I  had 
read  the  night  before.  With  what  joy  I  looked  forward 
to  the  evening  when  after  supper  we  would  all  gather 
around  the  lamp  on  the  table  and  sister  or  I  would  read 
aloud  while  mother  sewed  and  the  little  ones  sat  with 
their  chins  very  near  the  table.  For  if  there  was  any 
joy  to  be  gotten  out  of  anything  they  must  have  their 
share.  And  so  they  would  sit  blinking  sleepily  and  try- 
ing hard  to  understand  but  finally  they  would  fall  asleep 
with  their  heads  on  the  table.  Then  mother,  sister  and 
I  would  move  closer  to  each  other  and  I  would  read  in  a 
lower  voice. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 191 

When  we  were  through  with  David  Copperfield  we 
felt  as  if  we  had  parted  from  a  dear  friend.  We  could 
not  bear  to  read  anything  else  for  a  whole  week. 

The  next  book  we  drew  was  without  vowels.  Sister 
and  I  had  never  dreamed  it  would  be  so  easy  to  learn  to 
read  it.  In  a  week  we  read  it  as  fluently  as  the  other.  And 
now  reading  material  was  not  so  limited.  A  flying  news- 
paper in  the  street, a  crumpled  advertisement  sheet,!  would 
smooth  out  tenderly  and  carry  off  home,  happy  in  the 
expectation  of  what  was  awaiting  me.  I  tried  to  under- 
stand everything  I  read  but  if  I  could  not,  I  read  it  any- 
way. For  just  to  read  became  a  necessity  and  a  joy. 
There  were  so  few  joys. 


192  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XLII 

ONE  night  about  this  time  whe^i  I  came  into  the  house 
I  was  shocked  at  what  I  saw.  Father  was  sitting  on  a 
low  box  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  He  was  in  his  stock- 
ing feet,  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  his  head  bent 
between  his  hands.  Sister  stood  near  the  lamp  in  the 
bracket,  reading  a  letter  and  crying  bitterly.  My  thought 
was  of  grandmother  at  once.  I  went  over  to  sister  and 
looked  over  her  shoulder.  After  a  lengthy  and  cere- 
monious greeting,  it  read : 

"Your  mother  is  dead.  But  you  should  not  grieve. 
You  should  be  glad.  For  she  suffered  much  in  these 
two  years."  It  was  an  old  woman  that  wrote  the  letter 
and  what  she  told  of  grandmother's  suffering  is  too  hor- 
rible to  repeat.  The  letter  closed  with :  "I  only  hope  and 
pray  that  he  who  breaks  every  home,  he  to  whom  no  bond 
is  sacred,  the  Czar  of  Russia,  may  know  at  least  for  one 
year  in  his  life  the  sorrow  and  loneliness  she  has  known." 

It  was  also  about  this  time  that  a  man  came  from 
our  part  of  the  country  and  gave  us  news  of  grandfather. 
He  was  in  Mintsk  in  a  Home  for  the  Aged.  The  man 
had  seen  him,  and  said  that  he  was  well  but  at  times  his 
mind  was  like  that  of  a  child.  He  spoke  of  his  children 
in  America  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  But  soon 
he  chuckled  gleefully.  "Brother,"  he  said  to  the  man, 
"come,  I  will  show  you  something."  He  took  him  by  the 
hand  and  led  him  to  a  cot  standing  in  a  corner.  He 
looked  around  cautiously  like  a  shy  little  squirrel  and 
then  took  a  tiny  bundle  in  a  red  bandana  from  under  the 
pillow.  He  patted  the  little  bundle  and  smiled  brightly 
at  the  man.  "You  see,  brother,"  he  whispered,  "as  long 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 193 

as  I  have  this  I  have  no  fear  of  want."  He  untied  the 
knot  with  his  poor  old  trembling  fingers  and  the  man 
saw  a  few  little  lumps  of  sugar  and  a  few  crusts  of  bread 
covered  with  green  mould.  All  his  life  the  thought  of 
want  in  his  old  age  had  been  his  one  fear. 


194  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XLIII 

THE  warm  days  passed  but  my  health  did  not  improve. 
On  the  contrary,  it  grew  worse  and  I  worked  less  and 
less — a  day  in  one  shop,  a  half  day  in  another,  for  I 
had  no  steady  place  now.  Often  after  I  had  worked  a 
morning  in  a  shop  the  boss  would  pay  me  for  the  half 
day,  and  tell  me  he  had  no  more  work.  I  understood 
that  I  was  not  doing  enough  and  it  did  not  pay  him  to 
keep  me.  When  I  had  the  strength  and  the  courage  I 
would  go  to  other  shops  and  ask  if  they  needed  a  feller 
hand.  It  did  require  courage  to  enter  a  shop  for  the 
people  stared,  my  face  was  so  pale.  When  I  did  not 
have  the  courage  I  went  home  and  was  glad  to  lie  quite 
still  on  the  couch. 

In  the  autumn  I  had  to  stay  at  home  altogether.  What 
little  I  had  earned  was  badly  missed.  Winter  was  com- 
ing and  none  of  us  had  even  half  warm  enough  clothing. 
So  father  decided  that  sister  should  leave  school  and 
take  my  place. 

She  had  just  learned  to  read  and  write  a  little,  and  of 
course  she  could  speak  English.  It  was  thought  that  she 
had  made  good  progress  in  the  short  time,  considering 
the  drawback  she  had  had,  in  not  knowing  the  language. 
We  all  felt  sad,  mother  particularly,  that  her  education 
should  end  here.  Sister  herself  took  it  in  a  way  charac- 
teristic of  her.  Her  days  in  school  had  been  happy  ones. 
She  had  been  known  and  loved  by  teacher  and  pupils 
throughout  the  little  Henry  Street  school.  And  like  the 
rest  of  us  she  did  not  look  upon  "free  schooling  in  Amer- 
ica" in  a  matter-of-fact  way.  She,  a  little  Jewish  girl 
from  an  out-of-the-way  Russian  village  of  which  no  one 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


ever  heard,  was  receiving  an  education!  It  seemed  a 
wonderful  privilege.  But  when  she  saw  that  this  was  not 
to  be  after  all,  she  did  not  utter  a  single  word  of  protest 
or  complaint. 

On  the  first  morning  of  going  to  the  shop,  for  she  was 
starting  in  as  a  finisher  on  buttonholes,  she  rose  very 
early,  as  I  had  once  done.  I  lay  on  the  couch  in  the  front 
room,  which  was  my  place  now,  and  watched  her.  This 
morning  reminded  me  of  that  first  one  when  I  left  for 
the  strange  shop.  Sister  was  about  the  same  age,  there 
were  the  same  preparations,  the  same  grey  light  in  the 
room.  The  only  difference  was  that  now  mother  was 
here  to  put  the  thimble  and  scissors  into  her  little  coat 
pocket,  and  tuck  the  little  bundle  of  lunch  under  her  arm, 
and  close  the  door  after  her,  and  then  stand  so  still  with 
her  face  pressed  against  it. 

I  stayed  in  the  house  all  day.  I  felt  despondent.  I 
often  felt  in  the  way.  When  night  came  or  it  was  time 
for  father  to  be  home  from  work,  I  went  out.  I  had 
begun  to  feel  in  the  way  when  father  was  in  the  house. 
As  the  illness  or  semi-illness  continued  mother  became 
even  more  tender  and  devoted.  But  father's  sympathy 
waned.  This  illness  was  such  a  long,  drawn-out  affair. 
It  had  had  no  definite  beginning  and  promised  to  have  no 
end.  And  besides,  he  saw  that  I  suffered  no  pain,  I  was 
merely  pale  and  not  over  strong.  What  of  that?  He 
himself  was  not  strong.  He  found  sitting  in  the  shop 
harder  and  harder  as  the  years  were  passing.  He  had 
been  working  as  a  tailor  since  he  had  been  twelve  years 
old.  And  just  now  his  eyes  were  troubling  him.  For 
he  had  inherited  grandmother's  weak  eyes.  And  so  he 
felt,  no  doubt,  that  just  when  I  should  have  been  a  greater 
help  to  him  I  became  a  care  and  expense. 

Besides  this  there  were  other  unpleasant  features.  For 


196       OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

people  in  my  parents'  circumstances  it  was  not  a  usual 
thing  to  keep  a  daughter  at  home.  And  so,  inquisitive 
relatives  and  neighbours  began  to  ask  why?  Why  was  I 
staying  at  home  ?  What  was  the  matter  with  me  ?  Why 
was  I  so  pale  ?  My  parents  felt  they  must  hide  the  truth 
even  at  the  cost  of  lying,  for  I  was  growing  up — and 
what  man  would  marry  a  sick  girl !  But  it  must  not  be 
thought  that  now  we  lived  only  in  trouble.  We  had  our 
joys  too.  They  seem  very  trivial  but  they  helped  to  make 
up  our  life. 

Father  belonged  to  a  society  in  which  he  was  an  active 
member.  The  men  often  came  to  our  house  to  talk  things 
over  with  him  and  he  felt  important  and  often  offered 
our  front  room  for  committee  meetings.  Before  they 
opened  the  meeting  they  always  assured  mother  that  they 
would  not  keep  us  up  any  later  than  ten  o'clock.  But 
when  the  time  came  they  were  so  deep  in  discussion 
that  they  never  even  heard  the  clock  strike  the  hour.  I 
used  to  sit  down  in  the  doorway  of  the  kitchen  and  front 
room  from  where  I  could  see  all  their  faces  and  listen 
to  their  heated  arguments.  Always  it  was  a  piece  of 
burial  ground  that  was  the  subject  of  discussion  and 
when  a  member,  or  any  one  belonging  to  his  family,  died, 
whether  the  rest  of  the  members  should  contribute  an 
extra  dollar  to  cover  burial  expenses,  and  whether  as  a 
society  they  should  or  should  not  employ  a  doctor  and 
pay  him  out  of  the  society  fund.  At  twelve  o'clock  or 
even  later  they  would  at  last  break  up  with  the  question 
of  the  burial  ground  and  the  extra  dollar  and  the  doctor 
still  unsettled. 

Then  mother  and  I  would  go  into  the  front  room 
coughing  and  choking  from  the  cigarette  smoke,  and  open 
up  the  folding  cots,  and  carry  the  sleeping  children  to 
bed.  The  two  little  ones  often  cried  at  being  awakened 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 197 

to  undress.  But  father,  if  he  had  succeeded  in  carrying 
a  point  and  in  the  knowledge  that  he  had  served  the 
society  in  giving  the  room,  went  to  bed  smiling. 

Sister  was  happy  in  a  friendship  she  had  formed.  The 
little  girl  was  the  oldest  in  a  family  of  boys.  The  mother 
was  always  sick.  And  this  little  woman  of  eleven  went 
to  school,  where  we  heard  she  was  remarkably  bright 
And  between  times  she  took  care  of  the  mother  and  the 
boys  and  the  house.  She  went  patiently,  with  her  back  a 
little  bent,  from  task  to  task  and  was  always  sweet  and 
bright.  Sister  made  friends  with  her  one  Friday  night 
when  she  sat  with  her  little  brothers  on  the  iron  steps  of 
the  tenement,  telling  them  stories.  And  my  mother,  after 
visiting  the  sick  woman,  would  often  tell  herself  and 
us  too,  "Children,  we  must  not  sin.  Indeed  we  have  a 
great  deal  for  which  to  be  grateful." 

While  I,  having  more  time  now,  dreamed  more,  I 
rarely  had  a  book  to  read,  now  that  I  was  not  working. 
But,  as  I  lay  on  the  couch  with  my  eyes  closed,  I  made  up 
stories  for  myself.  They  were  of  the  life  I  saw  about 
me,  with  little  variations  to  suit  myself.  Some  of  the 
stories  were  short,  some  were  long  and  I  continued  them 
from  day  to  day.  Once  or  twice  I  tried  to  write  the 
things.  But  the  moment  I  had  the  pencil  in  my  hand  my 
mind  became  a  blank.  I  did  not  know  where  to  begin, 
what  to  say.  And  when  I  finally  succeeded  in  writing  a 
few  sentences  it  seemed  to  have  no  meaning.  "And  yet," 
I  wondered,  "in  my  mind  a  few  minutes  before,  they 
did  have  meaning." 

Often  too  I  thought  over  religious  questions  that  I 
heard  or  which  came  up  in  my  mind.  I  was  still  religious 
but  I  could  no  longer  accept  my  religion  without  ques- 
tion. And  these  questions  perplexed  me  and  I  felt  guilty 


198  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

that  they  should  come  up  at  all  and  tried  to  put  them 
away  from  my  mind. 

Now  also  that  I  had  time  I  began  to  go  to  night  school 
and  sister  came  too.  I  only  knew  how  to  read  a  word 
here  and  there.  I  sat  in  the  class  and  followed  each  girl 
that  read,  with  my  finger  on  the  page.  If  I  happened 
to  lift  my  finger  I  could  not  find  the  place.  Sister  would 
have  sat  near  me  and  helped  me  but  I  felt  ashamed  to 
let  her  help  me  because  I  was  the  longest  in  this  country. 
She  read  well  and  made  good  progress.  But  I  sat  trem- 
bling with  nervousness  all  evening.  I  could  never  learn 
to  forget  that  there  were  people  all  about  me.  And  the 
time  I  spent  in  waiting  for  the  teacher  to  call  on  me  to 
read  I  can  only  count  among  the  greatest  sufferings  I 
ever  had.  I  would  sit  with  my  hands  lying  cold  in  my 
lap  and  my  face  turning  hot  and  cold  by  turns.  Most 
of  the  time  I  was  unable  to  follow,  I  was  so  upset.  And 
when  the  teacher  called  on  me  at  last  and  I  stood  up  with 
my  book  in  my  hand  I  seemed  to  see  nothing  but  a  blank 
page.  Then  I  would  hear  a  queer  sound  like  of  some 
one  sick.  The  next  moment  I  was  sitting  down.  And 
yet  I  could  not  bear  to  stay  away.  I  had  a  feeling  that 
the  world  was  going  on  and  I  was  being  left  behind. 
This  feeling  drove  me  on  and  I  went  to  the  class  and 
learned  painfully  a  word  or  two  at  a  time. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  199 


XLIV 

ONE  day  when  I  was  sixteen  years  old  a  neighbour 
came  into  our  house.  She  glanced  at  me  on  the  couch 
and  at  mother  sewing  at  the  window. 

"What!"  she  said,  "is  your  daughter  still  ill?"  Mother 
bent  her  head  lower  over  her  work  but  answered  lightly, 
"Yes,  but  it  is  nothing." 

"You  know,"  the  neighbour  smiled  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, "I  think  I  know  of  a  remedy." 

Mother  looked  up  for  the  first  time.  "Yes  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  the  neighbour  smiled  again.  She  would  not 
say  what  it  was  and  went  out  with  a  mysterious  nod  and 
smile  for  each  of  us. 

In  the  evening  after  supper,  two  days  later,  while  I 
was  preparing  to  go  out  for  a  walk,  mother  said  she  had 
no  sugar  for  the  morning.  She  laid  the  money  on  the 
table  and  said  with  unusual  quietness,  "Sugar  is  fifteen 
cents  a  paper  nearly  everywhere  but  there  is  one  store 
where  you  can  get  it  for  fourteen." 

"Where?"  I  asked.  I  was  at  the  mirror  combing  out 
my  hair  and  stood  with  my  back  toward  the  room. 

"It  is  on  Broome  Street  near  Market." 

I  turned  quickly  but  mother  was  already  walking  into 
the  kitchen.  I  thought  it  very  queer,  but  did  not  say 
anything.  I  braided  my  hair,  put  on  my  hat  and  coat, 
and  ran  out.  I  began  to  run  at  once,  for  I  was  always 
afraid  of  the  cold.  As  I  ran  I  thought  again  of  my 
errand  and  wondered  at  it.  True,  we  never  stopped  at 
any  distance  to  get  a  thing  a  cent  cheaper,  but  to  go  as 
far  as  this  for  a  paper  of  sugar  seemed  extreme  even 


200 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

for  us.  And  mother's  manner  surprised  me  even  more 
as  I  recalled  it  now. 

When  I  reached  Broome  Street  I  looked  up  at  the 
numbers  and  found  that  I  still  had  a  distance  to  go.  I 
walked  leisurely  now  for  I  was  no  longer  cold.  An  agree- 
ably warm  sensation  was  tingling  through  my  whole 
body  and  the  air  seemed  sweet.  I  was  also  conscious 
of  a  vague  happiness  and  wondered.  There  seemed  so 
little  cause.  One  hour  before  I  had  been  so  miserable. 
The  cause  seemed  that  father  was  irritable,  mother  sor- 
rowful, and  the  light  in  the  room  was  dim,  and  I  knew 
that  the  next  day  it  would  be  the  same,  and  the  day 
after,  and  the  day  after  that. 

I  found  the  grocery  a  one-window  store.  A  bell  tinkled 
over  the  door  as  I  entered.  No  one  was  in  so  I  went 
and  leaned  on  the  wooden  counter  to  wait.  Presently  a 
fair  young  man  with  a  ruddy  face  and  stooping  shoulders 
came  in  from  a  door  at  the  back.  He  asked  mechanically 
what  I  wanted  and  pushed  the  paper  of  sugar  across  the 
counter  with  scarcely  a  glance  at  me.  I  saw  a  corner 
of  a  lump  of  sugar  sticking  out  through  the  bag  so  I 
asked,  "Will  you  please  put  this  into  another  bag?  I 
have  quite  a  distance  to  go." 

He  looked  up  quickly  and  stared  at  me  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  took  a  bag  and  began  slipping  the  sugar  into  it. 
The  bag  broke  so  he  crumpled  it  up,  threw  it  under  the 
counter  and  took  another  one. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  he  asked,  working  with  marked 
slowness  and  tearing  this  bag  too.  "On  Cherry  Street," 
I  said.  He  was  silent  but  I  noticed  that  his  face  looked 
more  animated  than  it  had  been.  At  last  my  sugar  was 
safe  in  two  bags,  and  he  handed  it  to  me  instead  of  push- 
ing it  across  the  counter  as  before. 

"How  is  it  out?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  me  shyly  for 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  201 

the  second  time  and  then  looking  toward  the  door.  With 
people  that  were  shy  I  felt  at  ease,  almost  bold.  So  I 
answered  pleasantly,  "Fine!  It  is  cold,  but  there  is  no 
wind."  And  now,  since  I  had  spoken  to  him  I  thought 
it  would  be  rude  not  to  say  good  night.  As  I  was  walk- 
ing toward  the  door  I  was  aware  that  he  stood  still  look- 
ing after  me.  It  was  only  later  when  I  recalled  these  de- 
tails that  I  realised  I  had  noticed  them. 

Again,  about  two  days  later  my  mother  asked  me 
hesitatingly  and  without  looking  at  me,  "Well,  what  do 
you  think  of  that  young  man?" 

I  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "What  young  man?"  I 
asked. 

"The  young  man  from  the  grocery  store  on  Broome 
Street,"  she  said. 

"I  did  not  think  of  him.    Why?" 

Then  with  great  earnestness  mother  explained  to  me 
that  the  young  man  was  a  possible  suitor  and  a  very 
desirable  one,  that  he  was  getting  an  excellent  living  out 
of  the  store  and  that  he  very  much  wished  to  become 
"further  acquainted,"  and,  a  meeting  had  already  been 
arranged  for  Saturday. 

I  was  bewildered  by  what  had  been  happening.  I  was 
grown  up,  a  young  man  was  coming  to  see  me !  I  would 
soon  be  married  perhaps!  The  thought  "I  am  grown 
up!"  came  again  and  again.  It  seemed  incredible.  I 
remember  late  one  night,  perhaps  it  was  that  very  first 
night,  when  it  was  still  all  through  the  house,  I  rose  from 
the  couch,  took  the  tiny  night  lamp  from  the  nail  and 
tiptoed  to  the  half  length  mirror  hanging  between  the 
two  windows.  I  held  it  up  and  looked  at  myself  ear- 
nestly for  a  long  minute.  "So  I  am  grown  up,"  I  thought 

During  the  few  days  that  followed  there  was  a  great 
hustle  and  bustle  in  our  house.  Our  first  furniture  had 


202 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

long  ago  been  broken  up,  and  a  second-hand  couch  for 
two  dollars  that  had  been  added  since,  now  stood 
on  three  legs.  So  mother  brought  forth  the  homespun 
linen  sheet,  which  she  had  as  a  relic  from  home,  and 
spread  it  over  the  couch.  "When  will  there  be  a  bet- 
ter time  to  use  it  than  now  ?"  she  said  and  smiled  at  me. 
And  father  went  out  and  bought  two  straight  back 
chairs  and  a  rocker,  and  we  were  ready  to  receive  the 
young  man. 

He  came  Saturday  about  three  o'clock  accompanied  by 
a  middle-aged  man  who  introduced  himself  as  "the  oldest 
uncle."  I  shrank  behind  my  mother  and  a  cousin  who 
had  been  invited  to  be  present  to  give  her  opinion  of  the 
young  man.  At  last  the  first  few  minutes,  the  worst 
part,  was  over.  We  were  all  seated.  Father  and  the 
uncle  sat  at  the  table  opposite  each  other  and  at  once 
began  a  lively  conversation  to  which  the  rest  of  us  sat 
and  listened  respectfully. 

When  I  felt  more  at  ease  I  observed  the  young  man. 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  known  him  a  long  time.  It  seemed  quite 
natural  that  he  should  sit  with  his  neck  shrunk  into  his 
collar  and  keep  his  hat  on  like  the  two  older  men  and 
be  quite  as  old-fashioned  as  they  were.  Then  in  my  mind 
arose  the  image  of  another  young  man.  He  was  the 
imaginary  companion  of  my  childhood  grown  older.  He 
was  tall  and  dark  and  not  at  all  shy. 

I  sat  thinking  so  until  I  noticed  the  uncle  observing 
me  from  time  to  time  and  I  became  uneasy  again.  But 
I  too  observed  him.  I  liked  him.  He  reminded  me  of 
Mr.  Peggotty  from  David  Copperfield.  He  was  a  large, 
strong,  ruddy-faced  man  with  a  hearty,  frank  manner. 
He  was  leaning  on  the  table  with  his  hands  clasped  in 
front  of  him  and  he  looked  right  into  my  father's  face 
as  he  talked.  He  was  relating  his  experiences  as  a  news- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  203 

dealer.  At  last  he  sat  back  in  his  chair.  My  heart  be- 
gan to  beat  uncomfortably. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "supposing  we  talk  of  things  nearer 
our  hearts."  I  was  aware  that  even  the  children  avoided 
looking  at  me. 

"Tell  me,"  the  uncle  asked  in  his  frank  blunt  way, 
glancing  at  me  and  then  looking  at  my  father,  "why  do 
you  want  to  marry  off  that  girl?  She  is  so  young,  and 
not  at  all  homely.  What  is  the  haste?"  There  was  a 
tone  of  suspicion  in  his  voice  as  if  he  feared  a  bad 
bargain. 

There  was  a  buzzing  in  my  ears  and  I  wanted  to  run 
away.  Indistinctly  I  heard  my  parents  answer  something 
and  at  the  same  time  I  suddenly  saw  the  young  man 
standing  before  me  and  asking:  "Will  you  come  for  a 
walk  with  me?"  I  rose  quickly,  went  into  the  bedroom 
and  stood  with  my  face  pressed  against  the  clothes  hang- 
ing on  the  wall.  Then  I  came  out  dressed  in  my  childish 
hat  and  coat  and  we  went  out.  And  now  I  heard  him 
talk  for  the  first  time  since  I  bought  the  sugar  in  his 
store.  His  tone  was  earnest,  and  a  little  eager,  his  ex- 
pressions,— we  spoke  Yiddish,  of  course, — were  almost 
Biblically  old-fashioned,  as  if  he  had  just  come  from 
some  pious  Russian  village  instead  of  having  been  in 
America  five  years.  He  told  me  that  he  had  three  uncles. 
I  recall  these  words  spoken  confidently  but  piously. 
"My  uncles  are  all  espoused  and  with  the  help  of  God 
they  are  making  a  living."  I  gathered  that  he  wanted 
me  to  know,  that  as  a  member  of  this  family  he  too  felt 
confident  of  being  able  to  make  a  living.  He  talked  the 
whole  while  to  the  same  effect.  His  tone  became  more 
eager  and  persuasive.  From  this  and  his  looks  and 
manner  his  thought  of  myself  was  very  clear  to  me. 
I  felt  a  little  pleased,  but  that  was  all. 


204  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

When  we  came  home  we  had  cake  and  tea  and  then 
they  went  away. 

That  evening  and  the  next  day  my  parents  looked 
quietly  excited  and  expectant.  The  next  night,  while  we 
were  at  supper,  a  message  came  from  the  matchmaker 
saying  that  the  young  man  and  his  family  were  "pleased" 
and  would  be  happy  at  an  "alliance." 

Father  was  so  pleased  at  the  news  that  his  face  became 
quite  radiant.  He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed 
joyously.  It  appeared  that  he  had  not  expected  it.  "A 
girl  without  a  cent  to  her  name,"  he  said,  quite  lost  in 
wonder.  Mother  too  looked  pleased,  but  she  was  not  so 
humble. 

"Not  every  girl  needs  a  dowry,"  she  said. 

I  could  not  understand  why  father  was  so  happy.  He 
looked  at  me.  "And  what  do  you  say,  Rahel  ?"  he  asked. 

The  question  troubled  me  suddenly.  Somehow  I  had 
never  quite  realised  that  this  question  would  really  be 
put  to  me  and  that  I  would  have  to  answer  it.  I  rose 
from  the  table  but  could  find  nothing  to  say.  "Well," 
father  said  in  an  easy  tone,  as  if  he  were  quite  sure  of 
the  outcome,  "there  is  plenty  of  time.  Think  it  over. 
Take  until  to-morrow  night  and  decide."  My  mind  was 
in  a  tumult. 

In  the  meantime  the  matchmaker  practically  lived  in 
our  house.  He  came  in  during  the  morning,  he  came 
in  the  afternoon  and  again  at  night  when  father  was 
home.  He  would  sit  for  hours  singing  the  young  man's 
praise, — his  wealth,  his  business  abilities  and  his  char- 
acter. And  soon  he  succeeded  in  making  my  parents 
feel  that  this  was  one  chance  in  a  lifetime. 

When  next  father  asked  me,  "Well,  what  do  you  say?" 
I  trembled.  "I  have  not  decided  yet,"  I  told  him  quietly. 


n 


•'  J 


HE  STOOD  STIRRING  THE  CAN   WITH   A   STICK. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  205 

He  was  patient  but  he  did  not  look  so  at  ease  as  the  night 
before,  nor  so  sure. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  him  again  ?"  he  asked. 

I  said :  "No." 

He  thought  for  a  moment.  "I  don't  see  what  you 
want,"  he  said.  "He  is  a  nice  quiet  young  man  and  the 
main  thing,  he  is  not  a  wage  earner.  The  smallest  busi- 
ness man  is  worth  ten  workingmen.  Tell  me  definitely 
to-morrow  night.  We  cannot  keep  the  people  waiting 
for  an  answer  any  longer.  This  is  not  child's  play,  you 
know."  When  father  was  out  of  hearing  mother  added 
sadly,  by  way  of  help  perhaps,  "It  is  true  that  you  are 
young,  but  you  see,  father  is  poor  and  you  are  not 
strong !" 

I  went  into  the  bedroom  and  wept  with  my  face  buried 
in  the  pillows.  "Why  did  I  have  to  decide  this?  I  had 
never  been  allowed  to  decide  the  smallest  thing  before — 
the  shape  of  my  shoes,  the  length  of  my  dress." 

The  next  evening  I  could  not  bear  to  face  father.  I 
saw  that  I  must  answer  him  definitely  and  I  did  not 
know  what  to  answer.  When  it  grew  dark  it  occurred 
to  me  to  go  out  into  the  street.  I  could  always  think 
more  clearly  in  the  air  and  while  walking. 

It  was  a  mild,  clear  night  and  there  was  a  half  moon. 
I  walked  so  I  could  see  it  ahead  of  me.  It  calmed  me 
to  watch  it  and  soon  my  brain  did  clear  a  little  and  I 
was  able  to  realise  something  of  my  situation. 

"Father  is  poor  and  I  am  not  strong."  These  words 
had  impressed  themselves  on  my  mind  and  now  I  caught 
at  them. 

"It  is  clear  then,"  I  thought,  "that  I  must  marry. 
And  if  I  did  not  marry  this  young  man  whom  could  I 
marry?  A  tailor?"  At  the  thought  of  a  tailor  the  young 
man  rose  in  my  estimation.  I  also  saw  an  advantage  in 


206  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

that  he  was  a  grocer.  "My  people  could  live  near  and 
get  things  at  cost  price,  bread,  butter,  sugar,  potatoes. 
It  will  be  a  great  help."  But  on  the  other  hand  I  could 
not  picture  myself  living  with  the  strange  young  man  and 
his  mother.  I  knew  now  that  he  had  a  mother ;  she  was 
blind.  He  was  her  only  son  and  she  would  live  with 
him  then  as  now. 

It  struck  me  how  similar  my  fate  was  to  my  mother's. 
She  too  had  married  an  only  son,  and  his  mother  had 
been  blind.  And  now  I  recalled  many  tragic  incidents 
in  my  mother's  early  life.  Grandmother  had  loved  her 
son  passionately  and  was  often  so  jealous  that  though 
she  had  been  a  kind  and  extremely  pious  woman  she 
did  not  scruple  to  talk  to  her  son  against  his  wife  and 
influence  him  to  unkind  actions  and  speech.  Mother 
would  weep  and  rebel.  "I'll  never  talk  to  her  again,"  I 
would  hear  her  say.  But  soon  she  would  remember 
grandmother's  affliction  and  she  would  forgive  her. 

Would  this  mother  too  talk  to  her  son  against  me? 
I  realised  that  I  was  neither  so  good  nor  so  patient  as 
my  mother.  "I  would  not  stand  it,"  I  thought,  "I  would 
run  away.  But,  if  I  did  not  marry  this  young  man, 
what  then?" 

Again  I  saw  our  dimly  lit  home,  father  cross  and  irri- 
table, mother  sorrowful,  always  the  same  with  no  change 
and  no  hope.  And  now  it  would  be  worse.  For  father 
would  feel  that  I  had  had  a  chance  to  better  things  and 
did  not  do  so.  But  is  that  all  there  is  in  looking  forward 
to  marriage?  An  uneasy  fear — and  what  is  love! 

When  I  reached  home  supper  was  already  half  over. 
I  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  mother  gave  me 
my  soup.  The  children  seemed  to  be  sitting  at  the  table 
more  mannerly  than  usual  and  father  spoke  quietly  of 
trivial  things  in  the  shop.  He  scarcely  seemed  to  notice 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  207 

me.  He  was  always  afraid  of  making  us  children  feel 
too  important.  But  I  knew  that  there  was  one  thought 
only  in  every  mind.  My  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  burst. 
I  leaned  against  the  table  and  sat  looking  into  my  plate 
and  stirring  and  stirring  my  soup  for  I  knew  I  could  not 
lift  my  hand. 

At  last  I  heard  father  lay  down  his  spoon  and  push 
his  chair  away  from  the  table  a  little. 

"Well,"  he  asked  in  a  "by  the  way"  tone,  "what  have 
you  decided  ?"  It  grew  so  still,  even  the  breathing  seemed 
to  have  stopped.  And  in  this  stillness  I  heard  myself 
say,  "Yes." 

I  did  not  look  up.  I  knew  that  every  face  had  grown 
brighter.  It  was  pleasant  to  know  that  I  was  the  cause. 
I  had  been  nothing  but  a  sorrow  so  long. 


PART  FOUR 


PART  FOUR 


XLV 

AND  now  a  new  life  began  for  us,  and  for  the  second 
time  I  became  an  important  person.  The  children  fairly 
strutted  about  and  boasted  about  their  "oldest  sister." 
And  father  talked  to  the  members  of  his  society  of  the 
coming  engagement.  How  happy  his  face  looked  and 
how  cheerfully  he  spoke !  To  him  this  was  the  beginning 
of  a  new  life.  He  had  scarcely  ever  known  what  it 
meant  to  be  free  from  anxiety.  First,  from  early  child- 
hood it  was  the  fear  of  the  army  where  he  would  be 
compelled  to  violate  the  laws  against  God:  "Thou  shalt 
not  kill"  and  the  fear  for  the  blind  and  helpless  mother 
he  would  have  to  leave  behind.  In  this  fear  he  grew 
up  to  manhood.  And  then  with  blood  money,  borrowed 
and  saved  on  bread  and  his  mother's  tears,  he  bought 
a  false  name.  Then  his  life  was  in  constant  fear 
of  human  beings,  often  in  fear  of  his  own  shadow. 
Then  being  found  out,  and  all  seeming  lost,  his 
escape  to  America,  then  the  struggle  of  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  which  led  to  only  a  hand-to- 
mouth  existence,  without  any  change,  without  hope  of 
change.  But  now,  he  felt,  at  last  things  began  to  look 
bright.  One  child  was  already  grown  up.  He  was 
branching  out,  he  was  to  be  allied  with  a  fine  respectable 
family,  with  men  of  business.  Now  on  a  Saturday  after- 
noon after  his  nap,  he  would  not  have  to  walk  in  the 
street  aimlessly,  he  would  go  to  visit  his  son-in-law.  He 
would  sit  at  a  comfortable  table,  drink  tea  and  talk  busi- 

211 


212 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

ness.  His  opinion  of  business  men  was  high.  It  was  his 
dream  some  day  to  lay  down  his  needle  and  thread  and 
perhaps  open  a  little  candy  store  or  a  soda  water  stand. 
But  up  to  this  time  it  had  been  no  more  than  a  dream. 
For  when  could  he  hope  to  put  away  fifty  or  seventy- 
five  dollars!  Now,  however,  with  the  prospect  of  having 
a  son-in-law  in  business  the  dream  looked  nearer  reality. 

And  so  he  beamed  at  mother  and  teased  her.  "Hanah, 
you  are  going  to  have  a  son-in-law  soon."  Mother  too 
looked  happy  but  I  did  not  find  it  so  easy  to  under- 
stand her.  Her  manner  to  me  reminded  me  of  the 
time,  four  years  before,  when  the  ticket  came  for  me 
to  go  to  America.  Her  eyes  followed  me  about  as  they 
did  then.  Often  while  she  sat  in  a  corner  over  some 
work  I  saw  from  the  expression  of  her  face  and  the 
occasional  motions  of  her  head  and  lips  that  she  was 
arguing  something  out  with  herself,  as  was  her  habit, 
looking  at  it  from  every  possible  point  of  view.  Often 
too  her  eyes  were  on  my  face  in  dumb  inquiry. 

And  I,  at  present,  I  found  it  easier  to  understand 
every  one  in  my  family  than  myself.  My  people  were 
happy,  home  was  cheerful,  I  received  some  new  clothes. 
The  choice  was  left  entirely  to  me  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life.  And  I  chose  what  I  liked,  pretty  material  for 
a  dress  and  it  was  given  away  to  a  dressmaker  to  be 
made.  I  chose  a  pretty  pair  of  shoes  and  saw  that  they 
were  the  right  size.  And  when  I  put  them  on  they  looked 
so  small  and  dainty  after  the  others,  and  fitted  so  snugly, 
that  when  I  walked  I  felt  as  if  my  feet  scarcely  touched 
the  ground.  And  yet  deep  down  in  my  heart  I  felt  so 
troubled.  Why?  I  could  not  have  told.  So  passed  the 
first  week  after  I  had  said  that  little  word,  "Yes." 

Saturday  the  young  man  came.     I  still  thought  of 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  213 

him  as  the  young  man,  and  we  went  out  to  buy  an  en- 
gagement ring.  We  went  to  a  jeweller  he  knew. 

I  stood  at  the  glass  case  and  watched  him  try  one  little 
diamond  ring  after  another  on  my  finger.  To  my  sur- 
prise the  pleasure  I  felt  in  receiving  the  diamond  ring 
was  not  as  great  as  I  had  expected.  He  asked  me  to 
choose  and  I  chose  a  very  small  stone  in  a  simple  setting. 
The  ring  was  bought  and  left  to  be  made  smaller.  And 
now  I  would  have  been  glad  to  go  home  alone.  But 
when  we  came  outside  he  asked  me  to  come  and  visit 
some  of  his  relatives.  I  realised  suddenly  that  I  had 
duties  now,  new  duties.  In  the  meantime  he  entreated, 
"Please  come!  I  have  promised  my  youngest  uncle. 
They  expect  us."  So  I  went. 

This  uncle  had  recently  married.  I  found  him  a  very 
agreeable  man  and  his  wife  charming.  She  took  me  at 
once  under  her  protection.  Soon  more  relatives  arrived 
and  she  introduced  me  as  "Israel's  bride."  Some  of 
the  women  exclaimed  openly  at  my  youthful  appearance 
and  the  men  slapped  Israel  on  the  back  and  winked  at 
him.  His  face  was  flushed  with  pleasure.  Soon  we 
sat  down  at  a  feast  of  fruit,  cake  and  tea.  And  as  the 
relatives  sat  peeling  their  apples  or  oranges  they  became 
curious  to  know  whether  Israel's  bride  had  any  accom- 
plishments. "Can  you  sing?"  they  asked  me.  I  said, 
"A  little,"  and  I  sang. 

When  it  grew  dark  and  I  went  to  get  my  hat  and  coat 
the  young  aunt  followed  me  into  the  bedroom.  She  took 
my  face  between  her  hands  and  looked  into  my  eyes.  "It 
is  so  strange,"  she  said,  "to  hear  a  little  thing  like  you 
singing  these  sad  songs." 

Directly  the  next  day  my  parents  began  to  prepare 
for  the  engagement  which  was  to  be  on  the  coming  Sat- 
urday night.  A  great  ."crowd"  was  expected.  Aunt 


214  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

Masha  managed  to  procure  the  use  of  an  empty  loft  in 
the  new  shops  on  Jefferson  Street  through  the  janitor 
whose  daughter  was  her  friend.  And  to  this  loft  with 
parcels  and  bundles  many  excursions  were  made  during 
the  week  by  mother  and  the  children  or  father,  when  he 
came  home  from  work  at  night.  No  one  looked  so  happy 
and  excited  as  father.  He  invited  all  the  members  of  the 
society,  and  their  wives  and  children,  and  mother  invited 
'half  of  Cherry  Street.  Every  one  must  come  and  par- 
ticipate in  their  happiness,  no  one  must  be  overlooked  or 
offended.  Aunt  Masha  invited  all  her  friends.  Aunt 
Masha  was  not  the  rosy-cheeked  girl  she  had  been.  But 
she  looked  contented.  She  listened  and  advised  girls  in 
their  love  affairs,  and  took  part  at  engagements  and 
weddings  with  an  "elderly  aunt"  air.  We  all  felt  that 
she  had  settled  herself  down  to  a  single  life.  But  there 
were  times  when  she  would  not  talk  to  us  and  she  looked 
morbid  and  cried  for  days  and  days. 

Her  friends  were  four  mature  girls.  They  often 
came  to  our  house  for  me  to  dress  their  hair,  for  which 
I  seemed  to  have  a  knack.  They  praised  me  for  it  but 
otherwise  they  never  took  any  notice  of  me.  Now,  how- 
ever, they  looked  at  me  curiously,  and  as  I  had  once  been 
envied  for  going  to  America  I  was  envied  now  because 
I  was  going  to  be  married.  Not  one  of  the  girls  had 
their  families  in  this  country,  or  a  comfortable  home. 
One  spoke  to  me  openly.  She  had  been  a  pretty  blonde 
girl  when  I  came  to  this  country,  but  now  her  face  had 
no  colour  and  she  stooped  as  she  walked.  "You  are 
very  fortunate,  Rahel,"  she  said.  "I  am  tired  of  the 
shop,  I  want  something  more  than  a  folding  cot  for  my 
home."  And  she  sighed  and  walked  away  from  me 
with  her  shoulders  drooping  more  than  ever. 

When  Saturday  came  there  was  a  great  deal  of  excite- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 215 

ment  in  our  house.  All  the  children  had  their  heads 
washed  and  sister  curled  their  hair  and  helped  mother 
get  dressed.  The  smallest  boy,  six  years  old  now,  sat 
crying  with  a  swollen  cheek  and  had  to  be  comforted 
with  sweets.  And  I  walked  about  from  room  to  room 
and  was  of  no  help  to  any  one.  As  soon  as  it  grew 
dark  Aunt  Masha  and  the  girls  came,  and  carried  me 
off  to  a  hairdresser,  and  as  usual  now  I  who  had  always 
been  last  everywhere  was  first.  I  sat  down  in  the  chair 
and  my  friends  stood  about  me.  My  hair  was  care- 
fully brushed,  braided  and  wound  all  about  my  head 
and  sprinkled  with  gold  tinsel.  When  I  came  home  and 
put  on  my  first  long  dress,  and  looked  into  the  mirror 
I  saw  that  I  looked  at  least  eighteen  years  old.  And 
then  it  occurred  to  me  that  this  was  my  day !  That  per- 
haps I'd  never  have  another  such  day,  and  the  desire 
came  to  be  happy  this  one  night. 

I  went  to  the  hall  early,  for  indeed  the  loft  looked 
like  a  hall  now.  It  was  bright  with  lights  and  there 
were  two  long  tables  laden  with  fruits  and  candies 
prettily  arranged  in  glass  bowls  and  decorated  with 
fringed  red,  white  and  blue  papers  and  fancy  paper 
napkins.  Folding  chairs  stood  along  the  walls  and 
the  floor  was  sprinkled  with  candle  scraping  for 
the  dancing.  And  when  the  people  began  to  arrive  I 
saw  that  this  was  indeed  my  day.  No  one  looked  upon 
me  as  a  child,  every  one  was  kind  and  attentive.  Even 
the  elderly  people  came  up  to  shake  hands  with  me.  The 
blood  began  to  beat  rapidly  in  my  veins  and  my 
heart  throbbed  with  excitement.  After  the  formal 
ceremony,  when  the  plate  was  broken,  and  Israel  slipped 
the  little  diamond  ring  on  my  finger,  I  refused  to  sit 
down  next  to  him  at  the  head  of  the  table.  I  felt  as  if 
intoxicated.  Instead  I  walked  about,  talked  to  the  girls 


216  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

and  flirted  with  the  young  men.  Then  I  danced.  I  danced 
with  the  men,  I  danced  with  the  girls,  I  danced  until 
both  families  were  alarmed  and  begged  me  to  stop.  I 
assured  my  mother  in  a  whisper  that  I  never  felt  in 
better  health  in  my  life  and  continued  to  dance.  I  saw 
that  Israel  was  not  looking  very  happy.  He  was  sitting  in 
a  corner,  looking  neglected.  It  meant  nothing  to  me. 
Once  when  I  stopped  for  a  few  moments  he  came  over 
and  begged  me  to  sit  down.  At  the  same  time  two  young 
men  came  sliding  up  and  asked  me  to  dance.  The  two 
stood  disputing  and  jesting.  Each  one  claimed  that  he 
had  been  first.  In  the  meantime  a  waltz  began,  a  third 
young  man  was  passing  and  I  took  his  arm  and  went 
off  laughing. 

But  as  the  evening  advanced  I  grew  more  and  more 
tired  and  at  last  I  felt  quite  limp.  The  guests  were 
gone,  Israel  and  his  family  were  also  gone,  and  the  janitor 
turned  out  the  lights  on  a  room  hazy  with  cigarette  smoke 
and  tables  covered  with  fruit  skins  and  crumpled  paper 
napkins.  We  went  out  into  the  still,  cold  morning.  I 
fell  a  little  behind  my  people  who  were  discussing  the 
success  of  the  party,  and  walked  wearily,  listening  to 
the  sound  of  my  own  footsteps  and  wondering,  "And 
what  will  be  to-morrow?" 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  217 


XLVI 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  the  week  a  message  came  from 
Israel's  mother  inviting  me  to  come  and  spend  a  day  and 
a  night  with  them.  I  looked  at  mother,  I  had  not  yet 
gotten  over  the  effects  of  the  engagement  night.  I  felt 
worn  and  looked  paler  than  usual.  But  she  asked  me, 
"Will  you  wear  your  new  dress?"  So  I  knew  that  I 
was  to  go.  The  minute  it  was  decided  I  was  stirred  with 
curiosity  about  Israel's  home  and  his  mother,  whom  I 
had  not  yet  seen,  for  she  had  not  been  to  the  engage- 
ment. Because  she  was  blind  I  expected  to  find  her 
looking  like  grandmother,  tall  and  frail,  and  with  sweet 
pale  face  and  hands.  But  soon  I  found  that  she  was  not 
at  all  like  that. 

I  found  Israel  in  the  store.  He  looked  so  pleased  to 
see  me  and  at  once  led  me  to  the  door  in  the  back  of  the 
store  and  as  he  pushed  it  open  I  saw  in  the  middle  of 
the  kitchen  and  right  under  the  gas  which  was  lit,  a  large 
strong  looking  woman  in  a  brown  dress  and  wig.  "Mother, 
here  is  Ruth!"  he  said.  His  voice  was  full  of  excite- 
ment and  she  put  out  her  hands  and  took  mine.  So  we 
stood  for  a  long  minute.  The  light  was  on  her  face 
and  I  could  see  it  working  with  emotion,  and  there  was 
a  look  in  it  that  I  had  often  seen  in  grandmother's  face 
when  she  wanted  very  much  to  see.  After  a  little  while 
Israel  took  my  hat  and  coat  and  the  mother  walked 
straight  to  the  table  and  drew  out  a  chair  for  me.  It  was 
a  surprise  to  me  to  watch  her  quick  sure  step.  She  sat 
near  me  and  talked  all  afternoon.  Her  voice  was 
strong,  deep  and  monotonous;  and  as  she  talked  almost 
without  a  stop  it  was  like  listening  to  a  machine  grinding 


218  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

steadily.  She  told  me  all  about  her  brothers,  Israel's 
uncles,  their  honesty  and  ability  in  business,  and  of  their 
happy  lives  at  home.  She  seemed  to  talk  with  a  view  to 
entertaining  me.  But  I  felt  also  that  she  wanted  me  to 
know  the  kind  of  a  family  I  was  coming  into.  Then  she 
talked  about  Israel.  She  said  that  he  was  a  good,  dutiful 
son.  I  believed  it.  I  could  see  from  his  manner,  from 
the  way  he  looked  at  her  and  from  the  way  he  listened  to 
her, — for  when  there  were  no  customers  in  the  store  he 
too  came  and  listened, — that  he  was  good  to  his  mother. 

I  gave  her  all  my  attention  but  when  I  grew  tired  I 
looked  about.  So  this  is  where  I  am  going  to  live,  I 
thought.  This  room  which  was  a  kitchen,  dining  room 
and  bedroom  in  one,  was  all  I  could  see.  But  I  also 
noticed  a  closed  door  right  opposite  the  one  leading 
into  the  store  and  a  little  dark  window  with  iron  bars 
high  up  near  the  ceiling  in  the  wall  on  the  right.  This 
was  the  only  window  in  the  room,  and  it  looked  into 
the  dark  hall  of  the  tenement.  On  the  little  window 
sill  I  noticed  two  books,  and  I  promised  myself  to  see 
soon  what  they  were. 

Gradually,  from  talking  about  the  uncles  and  her 
son,  the  mother  led  to  the  marriage.  "You  see,"  she  said, 
with  a  wave  of  her  large,  brown  strong  hands,  "I  have 
everything  that  is  necessary  in  a  household.  There  will 
be  no  need  to  buy  a  thing."  My  heart  sank  when  I  heard 
this.  I  had  dreamed  of  a  new  bright  home.  "And  this 
is  not  all,"  the  mother  continued,  "there  is  another  room. 
Come,  I'll  show  you."  She  rose  and  opened  the  door  I 
had  noticed.  There  was  a  current  of  chill,  stale  air  and 
I  followed  her  into  a  room  where  there  was  dim  day- 
light. "When  we  moved  in  here,"  the  mother  kept  on 
talking,  "we  did  not  bother  fixing  up."  I  could  see  that. 
All  the  furniture  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  There 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  219 

was  a  couch,  a  bureau,  some  chairs  and  an  ice  box,  and 
against  one  wall  the  pieces  of  a  white  iron  bed.  Every- 
thing was  grey  with  dust  and  cobwebs  hung  from  the 
ceiling.  The  two  windows  were  long,  narrow  and  barred 
with  iron.  It  looked  to  me  like  a  prison.  I  shivered  and 
went  to  the  door.  "Are  you  going  in?"  the  mother  asked. 
I  said,  "Yes,  I  am  so  cold."  I  could  not  keep  my  teeth 
from  chattering.  I  could  not  picture  the  room  except 
with  the  dust,  the  cobwebs  and  the  iron  barred  windows, 
and  the  mother's  deep  monotonous  voice  as  an  accom- 
paniment. 

During  the  evening  business  was  at  a  lull  in  the  store 
so  Israel  was  more  in  the  house.  He  stood  near  the  stove 
with  his  hands  spread  out  for  the  warmth,  and  with  a 
smile  watched  his  mother  moving  about  the  room  per- 
forming little  duties  here  and  there  and  still  relating 
the  merits  of  her  relatives.  He  often  glanced  at  me. 
He  looked  as  if  he  too  had  something  that  he  wanted  to 
say.  But  he  also  looked  as  if  it  could  wait,  there  was 
no  need  for  hurry.  We  had  not  yet  spoken  since  I  had 
come.  But  I  noticed,  or,  more  correctly,  felt  that  his 
manner  toward  me  was  different  from  what  it  had  been 
before  the  engagement.  It  was  more  intimate  though 
we  had  not  seen  each  other  since  nor  did  we  know  each 
other  any  better.  I  felt  uncomfortable. 

At  last,  when  there  was  a  pause  in  the  mother's  talk 
I  asked  Israel,  "Do  you  read  sometimes?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "when  I  have  nothing  better 
to  do." 

"What  are  those  two  books?   May  I  see  them?" 

He  stood  up  on  a  chair  to  reach  them,  blew  the  dust 
from  them  and  gave  them  to  me.  Then  he  too  sat  down 
at  the  table  and  watched  me  turn  the  pages.  I  felt  hap- 


220 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

pier  now  and  having  the  books  to  which  to  give  my 
attention  I  also  felt  more  at  ease. 

The  first  book  turned  out  to  be  one  I  had  already  read. 
I  was  delighted.  It  was  like  meeting  a  friend.  And 
the  thought  that  Israel  had  read  the  same  book  was  a 
sort  of  link  and  made  me  feel  more  friendly  toward  him. 
So  far  we  seemed  to  have  had  nothing  in  common,  noth- 
ing to  talk  about.  But  now  there  was  the  book.  I  glanced 
at  the  pages  here  and  there  and  asked  enthusiastically 
what  he  thought  of  this  or  that  part,  and  how  he  liked 
this  or  that  character.  He  was  still  smiling  but  he  merely 
answered  "yes"  or  "no"  to  my  questions. 

The  second  book  was  a  translation  from  the  Russian 
into  Yiddish,  partly  letters,  partly  diary.  I  looked  it 
through  and  was  at  once  filled  with  a  burning  desire  to 
read  it.  The  intimate  tone  of  the  first  person  in  which 
it  was  written  made  me  feel  as  if  that  some  one  were 
actually  talking  to  me.  I  could  feel  his  presence.  "Shall 
I  read  it  aloud  ?"  I  asked  Israel.  "No,"  he  said,  without 
any  interest.  "What  is  the  use?"  He  even  looked  as  if 
he  would  have  liked  me  to  put  the  book  away.  But  the 
only  time  I  put  a  book  away  at  home  was  when  I  was 
forced  to.  And  here  I  knew  no  one  would  even  hint  that 
I  put  it  away  so  I  took  my  advantage  and  read.  But 
the  thought  that  I  was  rude  and  that  the  boy  felt  hurt 
perhaps,  made  me  feel  uncomfortable.  So  every  now  and 
then  I  would  look  up,  say  a  word,  or  smile  at  him.  I 
could  smile  now,  I  felt  so  happy  when  I  read. 

In  this  way  the  evening  and  the  next  morning  passed. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  Israel  hastened  in  from  the  store 
looking  excited.  "Ruth,"  he  said  eagerly,  "will  you  come 
into  the  store  for  a  minute?  I  want  to  introduce  you 
to  a  customer  of  ours."  I  rose  from  the  table,  scarcely 
knowing  what  I  did ;  I  was  miserable  in  a  moment.  Meet- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 221 

ing  strangers  was  a  great  hardship.  And  this  seemed  so 
unnecessary,  merely  a  customer  of  Israel's.  I  could  say 
I  did  not  want  to  go.  But  that  seemed  like  a  child.  And 
to  say  that  I  did  not  like  to  meet  strangers  was  also  im- 
possible. A  person  of  that  kind  was  thought  a  boor. 
Israel  looked  at  me  but  only  saw  my  unwillingness  to 
go.  He  looked  slightly  annoyed  and  explained  as  if 
he  were  sorry  that  explanations  should  be  necessary. 
"But  she  is  our  best  and  oldest  customer,  and  she  asked 
to  meet  you."  This  explanation  made  it  still  worse,  though 
why  I  could  not  have  told  at  the  moment.  His  mother 
too  joined  him  in  explaining  and  urging.  So  I  rose  and 
followed  him  into  the  store.  My  cheeks  were  burning  and 
I  dreaded  the  light  and  the  stranger's  eyes.  At  that 
moment  Israel  was  more  of  a  stranger  to  me  than  he  had 
been  a  little  while  before.  I  stopped  at  the  counter  right 
near  the  door  in  the  back.  Further  than  that  I  would 
not  go  and  Israel  had  to  call  his  customer  to  the  back 
part.  I  saw  a  tall,  dried  out  looking  woman  in  black 
with  sharp,  dark  eyes  that  looked  me  over  at  once.  Israel 
introduced  us.  She  smiled,  I  nodded.  And  now  my 
only  thought  was  to  go  back  into  the  kitchen,  when  I 
saw  Israel  push  a  slip  of  paper  and  a  pencil  toward  me 
and  lift  a  basket  of  bags  and  bundles  to  the  counter. 
"Will  you  put  down  these  figures  while  I  call  them  off?" 
he  said.  What  was  my  trouble  of  a  few  minutes  before 
compared  to  what  I  felt  now?  I  never  could  add  a  row 
of  figures  correctly.  And  since  I  had  come  to  this  country 
I  had  scarcely  even  written  any  numbers. 

A  sick  feeling  came  over  me  with  the  shame  that  was 
awaiting  me.  I  took  the  pencil  and  bent  over  the  slip 
of  paper  and  heard  Israel  call  "10."  Ten,  I  repeated  to 
myself,  looking  at  the  paper  blindly,  and  wondering, 
"Which  comes  first,  the  one  or  the  nought  ?"  Ages  seemed 


222  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  pass  since  I  had  heard  the  number  called.  I  put  down 
something.  "17"  I  heard  Israel's  voice  again.  And 
again  I  wondered  which  came  first.  How  the  blood  beat 
in  my  temples!  I  decided  to  keep  all  the  ones  on  one 
side,  to  the  left.  "23"  Israel  called.  And  now  it  seemed 
as  if  I  must  break  down.  In  Yiddish  many  people  read 
numbers  like  the  script,  from  right  to  left,  which  would 
read  three  twenty  although  written  (23).  When  I  had 
been  learning  as  a  child  it  had  been  a  great  puzzle  to  me 
and  now  it  bewildered  me  altogether.  Suddenly  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  if  Israel  called  the  numbers  in  English 
it  would  be  easier  for  me  for  at  least  some  of  them  I 
could  write  as  they  sounded.  He  did  and  it  was  easier. 
So  I  stumbled  on  from  number  to  number.  Often  I  felt 
as  if  I  must  give  up  but  still  went  on.  At  last  I  saw 
Israel  put  the  last  package  into  the.  basket.  "Now,  add 
it,"  he  said.  This  was  the  hardest  yet.  Again  I  did  not 
know  from  which  side  to  begin,  the  right  or  left.  But 
I  added  it  somehow,  and  then  I  straightened  up.  "It  is 
ninety-six  cents,"  I  said  and  stood  holding  the  little  piece 
of  paper  in  my  hand  and  looking  at  it.  I  would  have 
given  anything  not  to  have  to  give  it  up.  But  Israel 
was  holding  his  hand  out  for  it  and  the  woman's  eyes 
were  upon  me.  So  I  laid  it  in  his  hand  and  stood  wait- 
ing. I  thought  he  would  go  over  it  at  once  and  show  me 
the  mistakes  right  before  the  woman.  But  he  did  not. 
He  just  folded  it  and  put  it  into  the  basket.  I  felt  grate- 
ful for  that. 

The  woman  said  good-bye,  Israel  took  the  basket  on 
his  arm  and  they  went  out.  When  the  door  closed  behind 
them  I  leaned  across  the  counter.  Nearly  all  the  strength 
of  my  body  had  gone  in  the  effort.  And  as  I  waited  I 
thought,  "If  Israel  had  known  me  a  long,  long  time 
could  he,  would  he  have  done  this?  Why  did  he  do  it 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 223 

at  all?  Was  it  to  show  the  woman  that  he  was  not 
marrying  an  illiterate  or  was  it  to  keep  me  a  little  longer 
in  the  store  and  give  his  customer  a  chance  to  see  me? 
Had  he  been  talking  to  her  about  me,  or  did  he  wish  at 
once  to  begin  breaking  me  into  the  business? 

The  bell  over  the  door  rang  and  I  straightened  up. 
Israel  came  up  smiling  and  said  in  his  inoffensive  way 
and  yet  with  great  earnestness,  "There  was  a  mistake." 
I  opened  my  eyes  wide  in  pretended  surprise. 

"Really?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  mildly  but  with  still  greater  earnest- 
ness. "It  was  even  four  cents  more!" 

For  a  moment  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  I  heard 
right.  "Is  that  all  I  made  a  mistake  in?"  I  thought, 
"four  cents!"  Then  I  looked  at  Israel,  his  earnestness 
struck  me  funny  and  I  mimicked  him  a  little.  "Four 
cents  more!"  Then  I  laughed  while  he  looked  on  puz- 
zled. I  laughed  and  laughed  and  tears  were  running 
down  my  cheeks.  "Oh,  there  is  hope  for  me,"  I  thought. 
"In  time  I  can  learn  to  add  even  with  two  people  looking 
on." 


224  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


XLVII 

THE  next  day  was  Friday  and  Israel  kept  his  store 
closed  in  the  evening.  He  came  to  our  house  about 
seven  o'clock  and  showed  us  two  little  tickets  which 
were  still  unfamiliar  to  my  family  and  myself.  "These 
are  for  the  theatre,"  he  said,  "for  to-night"  The  children 
looked  at  me  with  bright  eyes.  "You  will  tell  us  all 
about  it,"  they  said,  and  mother  looked  quite  excited  as 
she  helped  me  dress.  I  remembered  Mr.  Cohen's  shop, 
and  recalled  what  I  had  heard  the  men  say  about  plays 
and  actors.  I  thought,  "Perhaps  I'll  see  Jacob  Adler  in 
King  Lear!"  We  walked  to  the  theatre  in  silence.  In- 
deed we  were  never  anything  else  but  silent.  This  was 
the  second  time  I  was  out  alone  with  him.  The  first 
time  had  been  when  we  went  to  get  the  ring.  Then,  I 
merely  felt  awkward  while  walking  with  him.  But  now 
I  felt  nervous  and  miserable.  The  silence  oppressed  me 
and  as  we  walked  along,  his  sleeve,  as  if  by  design,  kept 
coming  in  contact  with  mine,  and  I  kept  edging  away, 
but  very  slowly  so  as  not  to  hurt  his  feelings.  For  I 
was  not  sure  it  was  by  design  that  he  brushed  against  my 
sleeve.  In  our  seats  in  the  balcony  it  was  the  same  way. 
He  was  very  attentive  but  chiefly  with  looks,  and  his 
elbow  was  on  the  arm  of  my  seat.  I  pressed  into  the 
farthest  corner  and  the  edge  of  the  arm  cut  into  my 
back.  I  sat  and  could  think  of  nothing  but  how  to  keep 
clear.  Of  the  play  I  have  a  blurred  picture  of  an  angry 
king,  dressed  in  scarlet  and  white,  on  a  throne,  and  a 
throng  of  people.  I  knew  the  play  was  not  King  Lear. 

The  walk  home  was  again  a  silent  one  through  the 
streets  now  almost  deserted.  I  remember  how  glad 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 225 

I  was  when  I  caught  sight  of  our  tenement.  I  never  re- 
membered it  looking  so  nrce  as  it  did  now  in  the  pale 
light  of  the  street  lamp  which  stood  right  in  front  of  it. 
The  hall  door  as  usual  stood  open  and  the  light  shone 
through  the  hall  all  the  way  to  our  door.  I  stopped  in 
the  doorway  and  Israel  stopped  on  the  stoop.  I  felt  un- 
der obligation  to  him.  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  say  some- 
thing but  could  not  think  what.  So  I  said  good  night  and 
turned  to  go  when  he  called  "Ruth !"  His  voice  sounded 
so  muffled.  I  faced  about  and  he  came  and  stood  near 
me.  "I  want  one  kiss,"  he  said.  I  felt  panic-stricken. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  I  said,  "I  couldn't  possibly.  Indeed 
I  couldn't!" 

"But,  we  are  engaged  now,"  he  said  in  a  hurt  tone  as  if 
he  felt  he  were  within  his  rights.  Then  it  was,  or  had 
I  been  realising  it  little  by  little  all  along,  that  it  flashed 
through  my  mind  what  married  life  may  mean  with  a 
person  for  whom  one  does  not  care.  I  stepped  backward 
toward  the  door  repeating  again  and  again,  "I  couldn't 
possibly.  I  am  sorry  but  I  couldn't,"  and  then  I  knocked. 
Israel  said  good  night  and  walked  down  the  steps,  and 
mother  let  me  into  the  front  room  lit  by  the  tiny  night 
lamp.  "How  was  it?"  she  whispered.  I  whined,  "I  am 
tired!"  She  tiptoed  away  meekly  and  I  sat  down  on 
the  couch  and  wondered  how  I  was  to  live  through  the 
night. 

In  the  morning  when  mother  came  into  the  front  room 
and  looked  at  me  she  cried  out,  "My  God,  how  you  look ! 
Do  you  feel  so  sick  ?  Why  did  you  not  call  me  ?" 

"I  am  not  sick,"  I  said.  Then  I  broke  down.  I  told 
her  that  I  could  not  marry  Israel.  I  clung  to  her  and 
begged  her  not  to  blame  me.  She  spoke  tenderly  and 
tried  to  quiet  me.  The  children  gathered  around  the 
couch  and  father  came  in.  I  expected  he  would  upbraid 


226  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

me.  But  he  was  as  tender  as  mother  who  stood  with 
her  arms  tight  about  me.  "Hush!  hush!"  he  said,  "if 
you  feel  so  unhappy  you  need  not  marry  him." 

"And  won't  I  be  forced?"  I  asked. 

"You  won't  be  forced." 

"Can  no  one  force  me  ?" 

There  were  tears  in  his  eyes.    "No  one  can  force  you." 

Still  I  kept  asking  it  over  and  over  again  and  laughed 
and  cried  hysterically. 

My  mother  helped  me  over  to  her  own  bed  in  the  bed- 
room and  I  tried  to  rest.  I  lay  facing  the  door  and 
could  see  all  the  way  through  the  kitchen  into  the  front 
room  where  mother  and  father  talked  in  whispers  and 
the  children  walked  about  on  tiptoes.  I  lay  wondering 
what  father  would  tell  Israel.  He  would  come  to-day 
for  this  was  Saturday  and  he  kept  his  store  closed. 

He  came  about  one  o'clock.  I  saw  him  stop  for  a 
moment  with  his  back  against  the  door  and  stand  there 
almost  smiling.  My  parents  greeted  him  about  as  usual 
but  more  quietly.  Soon  I  heard  mother  say  still  more 
quietly,  "Ruth  does  not  feel  well."  He  was  not  at  the  door 
now  and  I  could  not  see  his  face.  But  I  heard  him  ask 
anxiously,  "Did  you  have  a  doctor?  Shall  I  call  one?" 
Mother  answered  something.  All  this  seemed  to  me  un- 
necessary conversation.  "Why  doesn't  father  tell  him?" 
I  wondered.  Suddenly  a  fear  came  over  me.  Perhaps 
father  would  not  tell  him  after  all.  I  remembered  now 
that  he  had  such  a  way  of  putting  off  doing  a  thing  when 
we  children  wanted  it  done.  And  the  more  we  wanted  it 
the  more  reason  he  saw  why  it  should  be  put  off. 
"Wouldn't  next  day  do  or  next  week,  what  is  the  hurry? 
We  must  learn  to  be  patient  and  wait"  So  I  thought 
that  now  too  he  might  put  off  telling  Israel.  He  might 
even  think  that  if  he  let  it  go  for  a  while  this  little 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  227 

storm  about  my  not  wanting  to  marry  would  soon  blow 
over  and  things  would  be  as  usual.  I  was  in  despair 
again.  "What  shall  I  do?"  I  wondered.  Then  it  oc- 
curred to  me  to  take  the  thing  into  my  own  hands.  I 
was  sorry  I  was  not  dressed  but  I  could  not  stop  to  do 
it  now.  Not  ten  minutes  longer  could  I  bear  to  be  en- 
gaged. I  called  to  mother  and  asked  her  to  tell  Israel 
that  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him.  Mother  went  slowly  back 
to  the  front  room.  As  he  was  coming  in  I  could  not  see 
his  face  very  distinctly  for  the  light  was  at  his  back.  But 
I  could  see  that  it  looked  anxious  and  was  sorry,  knowing 
that  I  would  soon  hurt  him.  He  came  and  leaned  up 
against  the  door  post.  He  asked  me  too  whether  he 
should  call  a  doctor.  I  answered  something  and  then 
I  was  silent.  I  did  not  know  where  to  begin  or  what  to 
say.  Suddenly  I  burst  out  that  I  did  not  want  to  get 
married  and  wept  bitterly  with  my  head  in  the  pillow.  I 
said  I  was  sorry  for  the  unpleasantness  and  the  trouble 
but  I  would  not  get  married.  I  would  never  marry  at 
all.  "But  why?"  he  asked  finally.  His  voice  sounded  as 
if  he  did  not  take  me  seriously.  A  moment  before  I  had 
decided  not  to  tell  him,  to  spare  him  the  hurt.  Now  when 
I  saw  he  did  not  take  me  seriously  there  was  only  one 
thought  in  my  mind,  to  be  free  of  the  engagement.  So  I 
said,  "Because  I  do  not  love  you."  "Oh,"  he  said,  in  a 
matter  of  course  tone,  "you  will  love  me  after  we  are 
married."  And  then  he  gave  me  many  instances  of  his 
uncles  and  his  aunts  and  his  mother.  I  was  in  despair. 
How  could  I  impress  it  upon  him  that  for  me  this  thing 
was  impossible?  And  then  it  flashed  through  my  mind 
how  I  could  make  him  see  it  in  a  moment.  I  sat  up  and 
in  my  eagerness  I  stretched  out  my  hand  and  laid  it  on 
his  sleeve  and  he  came  a  step  nearer. 

"Listen,"  I  said,  "you  wanted  to  kiss  me  last  night." 


228 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

I  could  see  that  he  felt  a  little  guilty.  "That  was  all 
right,"  I  said.  "I  can  imagine  that  if  I  loved  you  it 
would  have  made  me  happy.  But  as  it  is,  the  very 
thought  of  it  drives  me  mad." 

Even  in  that  light  I  could  see  that  his  face  changed 
colour  and  he  stepped  back  and  leaned  heavily  against  the 
door.  As  I  saw  him  weaken  I  quickly  followed  up  my 
advantage.  I  took  the  little  ring  from  under  the  pillow 
and  pressed  it  into  his  hand.  "Now  go,"  I  begged  him. 
"I  am  so  sorry,  but  please  go,  go!"  And  he  went,  and 
I  sat  and  watched  him;  his  step  was  unsteady  and 
his  back  more  bent  than  usual,  he  looked  like  an  old  man. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  229 


XLVIII 

THAT  night  a  message  came  from  Israel's  mother. 
She  said,  "I  pray  that  you  may  have  a  thousand  bride- 
grooms but  not  one  shall  you  marry.  I  wish  you  no 
other  ill  but  this!"  Mother  cried  bitterly  and  father, 
who  had  been  so  quiet,  so  silent  all  afternoon,  went  out 
into  the  street  still  without  saying  a  word.  Only  now 
I  really  believed  that  the  engagement  was  off.  And  now 
all  my  troubles  seemed  small.  I  rose  and  dressed  in  my 
old  clothes.  I  did  not  think  they  looked  so  shabby  and 
faded,  nor  were  the  shoes  so  clumsy  and  large.  I  was 
not  sorry  for  what  had  happened.  I  was  never  sorry 
for  any  experience  I  had  had.  At  the  time  when  it  was 
hard,  I  could  not  help  grumbling  but  later  I  was  even  glad. 
This  thing  I  knew !  I  went  to  mother  and  tried  to  comfort 
her.  I  crept  up  to  her  mouse-fashion.  We  all  loved 
fondling  but  we  were  not  used  to  showing  it  Mother 
looked  at  me  sideways  and  said,  "Go  away,  mouse!" 
But  I  saw  the  shadow  of  a  smile  in  one  corner  of  her 
mouth,  so  I  pressed  closer  to  her.  "Don't  cry,"  I  said, 
"when  you  and  father  are  old  and  the  children  are  all 
married,  you  will  be  glad  to  have  some  one  left  at 
home." 

Later  that  night,  when  the  children  gathered  around 
the  lamp  on  the  table  to  do  their  lessons  for  Monday  I 
too  sat  down  among  them  and  as  I  watched  them  write  I 
suddenly  remembered  the  diary  I  had  read  in  Israel's 
home.  I  took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pencil  and  wrote  a 
few  words,  in  Yiddish  of  course.  Then  I  crossed  them 
out  and  wrote  again  trying  to  improve  them.  So  I  kept 
rubbing  and  crossing  out.  But  finally  when  I  was  at 


230 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

the  bottom  of  the  page  a  sentence  stood  clear  which  I 
translate  now.  "I  feel  new  joy  in  life  and  in  freedom." 
I  often  attempted  to  write  about  what  I  felt  or  thought 
or  saw.  Most  of  the  time  after  I  wrote  a  sentence  and 
the  meaning  was  not  clear  at  once  I  grew  despondent 
and  tore  it  up.  But  sometimes  I  was  patient  and  de- 
termined like  to-night,  and  when  I  succeeded  I  felt  ex- 
tremely happy  and  kept  the  bit  of  paper.  I  kept  what 
I  wrote  that  night  and  a  few  days  later  I  copied  it  into 
a  little  penny  note  book.  I  was  determined  that  I  too 
would  write  a  diary  though  I  did  not  clearly  know  what 
a  diary  was. 

When  next  I  wrote  in  the  little  book  I  had  already  been 
working  two  weeks.  The  shop  in  which  I  found  myself 
now  was  a  piece  work  shop,  not  of  the  better  kind.  The 
work  was  cheap,  the  prices  low  and  the  men  scarcely 
lifted  their  heads  except  to  crack  jokes.  Oh,  those  jokes! 
I  was  older  now  and  it  was  harder  to  sit  among  the  men 
and  listen.  I  translate  what  follows,  the  first  sentence 
in  the  little  book.  "I  hate  the  shop,  I  feel  sick,  I  feel 
tired,  I  cannot  see  any  meaning  in  life."  This  time  I 
made  a  great  effort  to  keep  at  work  and  I  kept  up  as 
long  as  I  was  able  to  walk  to  the  shop.  Then  again  I  lay 
on  my  back  on  the  couch,  and  now  it  was  as  usual  in 
our  house.  But  now  I  did  not  care.  I  did  not  care  about 
anything.  All  I  wanted  was  to  be  left  lying  still.  There 
were  days  when  I  scarcely  felt  any  life,  when  I  could  not 
feel  the  couch  under  me.  My  body  seemed  to  be  sus- 
pended in  the  air  and  millions  of  specks  of  brown  dust 
danced  before  me. 

One  day  as  I  lay  so  I  felt  a  touch  on  my  wrist.  This 
touch  had  become  familiar  since  I  had  been  ill.  It  was 
a  doctor's  touch.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  saw  a  woman, 
a  stranger,  sitting  beside  the  couch.  Neither  in  looks  nor 


THIS  WAS  A  "PIECE  WORK"  SHOP. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  231 

in  dress  had  I  ever  seen  any  one  like  her  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood. She  was  also  beautiful  and  distinguished. 

"How  do  you  feel?"  she  asked  me.  Her  lips  smiled 
but  her  eyes  remained  almost  sad.  She  spoke  to  mother 
in  German,  gave  her  a  card  and  went  away.  I  spelled 
out  the  printed  name  on  the  card,  Lillian  D.  Wald,  265 
Henry  Street.  Again  I  translate  from  the  little  book, 
though  it  was  a  long,  long  while  before  I  wrote  what 
follows:  "Miss  Wald  comes  to  our  house,  and  a  new 
world  opens  for  us.  We  recommend  to  her  all  our  neigh- 
bours who  are  in  need.  The  children  join  clubs  in  the 
Nurses'  Settlement  and  I  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  there. 
Miss  Wald  and  Miss  Brewster  treat  me  with  affection- 
ate kindness.  I  am  being  fed  up.  I  am  to  be  sent  to 
the  country  for  health,  for  education." 

The  morning  before  I  was  to  start  Miss  Wald  herself 
went  with  me  to  get  me  a  hat.  We  did  not  go  to  a  mil- 
linery shop  but  what  I  now  think  must  have  been  a  sort 
of  a  class  in  the  little  Henry  Street  School.  She  asked 
for  a  hat  that  would  stay  well  on  my  head  in  all  kinds  of 
weather.  In  the  afternoon  I  washed  all  my  clothing. 
How  I  worked !  Mother  said  I  looked  like  the  old  Rahel. 
I  went  to  bed  and  made  her  promise  to  call  me  early. 
But  when  she  stood  at  the  couch  in  the  morning  it  was 
as  though  through  a  mist  that  I  saw  her  face.  Later  in 
the  day  I  saw  even  more  indistinctly.  First  I  saw  Miss 
Wald  moving  about  the  room,  then  Miss  Brewster.  On 
the  table  there  was  a  red  flower  in  a  glass  of  water  and 
a  little  white  unfamiliar  bowl.  Mother  saw  me  looking 
at  it  and  brought  it  to  me.  "You  see,"  she  said  trying 
to  interest  me,  "it  is  jelly  and  when  you  feel  better 
you  can  have  some." 

Still  later  the  Settlement  doctor  sat  at  the  couch  and 
mother  was  weeping  bitterly. 


232 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

In  a  week  I  felt  well  enough  to  go  about  again.  But 
now  the  doctor  and  Miss  Wald  thought  that  I  had  better 
go  to  the  hospital  first  and  get  quite  strong.  And  so 
it  was  that  I  missed  the  opportunity  of  the  education,  for 
it  never  came  again. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  233 


XLIX 

IT  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  my  people  to  send  me 
to  the  hospital.  For  the  very  word  filled  us  with  fear. 
How  could  a  helpless  sick  person  be  trusted  to  strangers ! 
Besides,  it  was  quite  understood  that  in  the  hospital  pa- 
tients were  practised  upon  by  hardened  medical  students 
and  then  neglected.  Whenever  we  saw  any  one  miserable, 
dirty,  neglected,  we  would  say,  "He  looks  like  a  'heg- 
dish' "  (hospital).  And  so  we  saw  our  neighbours  all 
about  us  borrow  and  pawn  but  keep  their  sick  at  home. 
And  when  once  in  a  while  we  saw  a  person  taken  to  the 
hospital  we  looked  after  him  mournfully  as  if  he  were 
already  carried  to  the  burial  grounds.  It  was  also  an 
open  acknowledgment  of  the  direst  poverty. 

And  so  Miss  Wald  had  a  great  deal  of  reasoning  and 
persuading  to  do  and  my  parents  had  a  great  deal  to  over- 
come to  consent! 

Late  one  afternoon  then,  with  a  change  of  clothing  in 
a  little  bundle  under  my  arm  and  a  letter  from  Miss 
Wald  in  my  hand,  I  started  out  for  the  part  of  the  city 
we  called  "uptown,"  as  strange  to  me  as  if  it  were  in 
a  different  country.  And  now  a  great  experience  was 
to  be  mine.  Never  again  could  I  look  upon  the  life  I 
was  leaving  in  the  same  way,  for  I  was  to  have  a  glimpse 
into  a  different  world. 

As  I  rode  along  in  the  Grand  Street  and  Third  Ave- 
nue surface  cars  I  asked  this  one  and  that  one  about  my 
destination  and  was  glad  to  hear  that  people  knew  about 
the  place.  I  felt  a  little  scared,  I  did  not  know  what  I 
would  find.  At  last  I  stood  before  the  building  of  the 
Presbyterian  Hospital  and  then  before  the  clerk's  desk. 


234  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"Your  name  and  address,"  he  asked.  I  gave  it.  "Can 
your  father  pay?"  I  had  never  yet  been  confronted  by 
this  question  and  my  face  burned.  After  a  moment  I 
had  to  admit  that  he  could  not. 

"What  does  your  father  do  ?" 

"A  tailor."   ' 

"How  much  does  he  earn  ?" 

"Eight  dollars,  sometimes  ten." 

"How  many  are  there  in  the  family  ?" 

"Six  beside  myself." 

"Take  a  seat,  please." 

Soon  a  man  came  and  I  followed  him  through  wide 
halls  where  our  footsteps  echoed.  We  went  up  in  an 
elevator  and  I  was  taken  into  an  immense  room  with 
two  rows  of  white  beds  and  in  each  bed  a  pale  face. 
Then  I  saw  a  nurse,  like  the  nurses  in  the  Settlement, 
and  I  felt  reassured  at  once.  She  led  me  to  a  chair  at  an 
empty  bed,  put  two  screens  about  me,  said  hurriedly 
and  without  looking  at  me,  "Undress,  please,"  and 
went  away.  I  felt  bewildered.  "She  could  not  have 
meant  that,"  I  thought  and  I  sat  still.  At  home  the  only 
time  we  went  to  bed  was  when  we  could  not  stand  on  our 
feet.  But  I  was  well  now.  I  also  realised  that  the  nurse 
could  come  and  go  as  she  pleased  and  there  was  nothing 
but  a  screen  between  myself  and  all  those  faces  that  I 
saw  in  the  beds.  The  more  I  thought  over  it  the  more 
impossible  it  seemed  that  I  had  caught  the  right  "English 
words."  But  what  did  she  mean?  I  sat  and  blamed  my- 
self for  not  having  been  more  attentive.  The  English 
spoken  here  and  by  the  nurses  in  the  Settlement  was  so 
different  from  the  Yiddish  English  that  I  knew.  But  I 
soon  forgot  all  about  it  as  I  looked  around  at  the  snow- 
white  bed  beside  me  and  at  the  little  table  with  a  glass 
top  and  at  the  screens  forming  the  walls  of  a  small 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 235 

room.  And  I  thought  with  joy,  "This  is  going  to  be 
my  room  and  these  are  my  things."  Over  the  bed 
there  was  also  a  large  window  which  I  claimed  at  once. 
The  light  from  the  setting  sun  was  streaming  in  and 
the  muslin  walls  of  the  tiny  room  were  coloured  rose. 
I  was  looking  about  me  and  out  of  the  window  and  reality 
was  slipping  further  and  further  away.  Presently  I  saw 
as  in  a  dream  a  small  round  toed  boot  push  one  side  of 
the  screen  away  a  very  little,  and  the  nurse  came  in 
carrying  a  small  tub  of  water.  And  when  she  saw  me 
sitting  there  just  as  she  had  left  me  she  put  down  the 
tub  on  the  table,  placed  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  looked 
at  me  and  sighed,  and  her  eyes  said  very  plainly: 
"Well!  What  kind  of  a  being  is  this  anyway?" 
Half  an  hour  later  I  lay  flat  on  my  back,  and  my  wet 
hair  was  spread  out  on  a  towel  over  the  pillow.  When 
the  screen  was  taken  away  I  saw  that  mine  was  the  last 
bed  in  a  row  of  ten,  facing  ten  other  beds. 

A  few  days  later  when  the  clock  struck  two,  visitors 
began  to  come  in.  I  saw  that  they  were  all  Gentiles  and 
mostly  Americans.  All  the  women  wore  hats;  they 
came  in  quietly  and  their  faces  looked  calm.  I  sat  up  and 
watched  the  door.  I  scarcely  dared  to  hope  that  my 
mother  would  come,  that  she  would  be  able  to  get  away, 
but  she  did.  She  stopped  in  the  doorway  and  looked 
eagerly  from  bed  to  bed.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  she 
wore  her  little  shawl  on  her  head.  When  she  saw  me  she 
almost  ran  over  the  highly  polished  floor  and  I  was  afraid 
she  would  fall.  All  the  people  stared  at  her  and  then  at 
both  of  us  when  she  sat  on  my  bed.  Her  face  was  cov- 
ered with  perspiration.  If  I  had  had  difficulty  in  finding 
my  way  to  the  hospital,  what  must  the  trip  have  been 
for  her  who  could  neither  speak  nor  understand  a  word 
of  English. 


236 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

I  had  wonderful  things  to  tell  her  (and  much  she 
could  see  for  herself)  about  the  cleanliness  and  the  care 
patients  received  and  about  the  food  which  I  thought  fit 
for  holidays,  though  I  could  not  at  once  like  it  for  our 
foods  are  more  highly  seasoned.  The  meat  and  juice 
which  the  doctor  ordered  I  had  not  touched  because  it 
was  "trafe"  (meaning  that  the  cattle  had  not  been  killed 
in  accordance  with  the  Jewish  law).  But  mother  told  me 
that  I  must  eat  everything  and  get  strong.  "You  are  not 
here  for  pleasure,"  she  said,  "take  it  as  you  would  medi- 
cine." And  so  it  was  that  I  now  had  to  break  the  vow 
I  had  made  to  myself  when  I  came  to  this  country,  not 
to  eat  trafe  meat. 

Mother  went  away  happy  and  reassured,  and  I  re- 
mained still  happier  than  she. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  237 


THE  first  person  with  whom  I  made  friends  (or  rather, 
who  tried  to  be  friends  with  me),  was  the  assistant  house 
doctor.  He  was  not  at  all  good-looking  but  he  was  big 
and  strong  and  good-natured.  His  small  grey  eyes 
twinkled  merrily  under  his  light  bushy  eyebrows.  The 
first  time  he  spoke  to  me  was  when  he  came  to  take  a 
drop  of  blood  from  my  finger.  "We  want  to  see,"  he 
said,  "whether  you  have  blood  or  water  in  your  veins," 
and  he  laughed.  "How  do  you  feel?" 

"Fine !"  I  said.  He  gave  my  hand  a  slap  and  watched 
to  see  if  it  would  get  pink.  "You  will  have  to  feel  a  great 
deal  'finer'  before  you  can  leave  here,"  he  said.  He 
tightened  his  lips  and  nodded  at  me  as  much  as  to  say, 
"You  might  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  it."  I  was  not 
at  all  grieved  to  hear  this.  Indeed  I  should  have  been 
grieved  if  it  were  to  be  otherwise.  For  I  already  loved 
it  here.  The  second  time  he  came  I  had  a  book  which 
my  mother  had  brought  me  to  read.  He  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  took  up  the  book  and  looked  at  the 
first  page,  then  he  turned  to  the  end,  and  he  looked  in 
the  middle.  His  face  became  more  and  more  perplexed. 
"I  cannot  read  a  word  of  it,"  he  finally  said.  "What  do 
you  call  this?" 

"It  is  Yiddish,"  I  told  him. 

"Read  a  little."    I  read. 

"Why !"  he  exclaimed,  "It  sounds  like  German." 

I  tried  to  explain  to  him  that  Yiddish  had  many  Ger- 
man words,  though  they  were  pronounced  somewhat 
differently.  I  tried  to  explain  it  in  English  and  I  had 
to  guess  at  many  words.  And  so  to  make  sure  that  it 


238       OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

was  clear  I  also  explained  it  in  German,  for  like  every 
Jewish  person  I  made  some  claim  to  being  able  to  speak 
German. 

"What  else  can  you  speak?"  The  doctor  was  looking 
quite  merry  again. 

"Russian,"  I  said,  "in  the  peasant  dialect  of  the  vil- 
lage from  which  I  come." 

He  looked  about  the  ward  and  asked  the  Russian  word 
for  table,  chair,  plant,  window,  bed.  I  told  him  and  he 
tried  to  say  each  word  after  me.  He  had  his  mouth  all 
screwed  up  and  he  pronounced  the  words  almost  like  an 
infant.  I  could  not  help  laughing  and  he  laughed  too. 
His  hearty  laugh  sounded  through  the  whole  ward  and 
many  of  the  patients  took  it  up  and  laughed  with  us,  not 
knowing  what  it  was  all  about.  "What  a  merry  people  are 
the  Americans,"  I  thought.  We  took  things  more  seri- 
ously. But  very  often  he  was  serious  too.  He  would 
sit  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with  his  arms  folded  and  ask 
me  to  tell  him  about  home  and  the  shop. 

One  day  I  saw  him  coming  into  the  ward  accompanied 
by  a  beautiful  woman.  She  wore  a  bunch  of  violets 
tied  with  a  purple  cord.  As  they  came  along  there  was  a 
sound  like  the  rustling  of  leaves  and  the  air  about  my  bed 
became  sweet. 

"Ruth,"  the  doctor  said,  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to 
a  friend." 

I  had  never  dreamed  there  was  anything  like  her 
beauty,  her  blue-black  hair,  her  blue-grey  eyes,  her  teeth, 
her  smile.  But  though  I  was  so  ignorant  of  life  I  under- 
stood at  once,  somehow,  that  much  of  this  woman's 
beauty  was  due  to  the  care  she  had  received  all  her  life, 
and  her  mother  before  her,  and  perhaps  even  her  grand- 
mother. It  was  so  clear  that  every  root  of  her  hair, 
almost,  received  special  attention. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  239 

She  came  to  see  me  often  and  brought  me  roses.  Once 
she  brought  a  big  box  full  of  pink  ones  with  thick  green 
rough  looking  stems.  She  laid  a  full  blown  flower  on 
my  lap  and  went  to  give  the  rest  to  the  other  patients. 
As  she  left  my  bed  I  wiped  hot  tears  away.  I  had  wanted 
a  bud  because  it  would  last  longer.  But  the  next  moment 
I  thought  of  myself  with  contempt  that  it  should  mean 
so  much  to  me.  Most  of  the  time  she  came  accompanied 
only  by  the  doctor;  once  she  brought  a  friend,  a  charming 
young  girl  of  twenty-one  who  told  me  she  had  just  come 
home  from  college.  She  plied  me  with  eager  questions, 
about  home  and  the  shop.  Even  if  I  had  known  how  to 
express  myself,  what  could  I  tell  them?  I  felt  ashamed 
before  these  women  that  seemed  to  know  nothing  that 
was  ugly  or  evil. 

Very  soon  I  had  still  another  friend.  At  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  a  professor  used  to  come  in.  He  was 
tall,  slender  and  bald.  His  small  face  was  round  and 
pink  and  so  jolly  that  I  would  feel  myself  begin  to  grin 
the  moment  I  caught  sight  of  him  or  heard  his  voice. 
One  afternoon  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  bring  a  friend  to 
see  you.  She  is  very  unhappy;  will  you  try  and  cheer 
her  up  ?"  I  said  yes  without  knowing  what  I  was  saying, 
with  all  the  doctors  and  nurses  looking  on  and  listening, 
for  they  were  making  their  rounds. 

The  next  afternoon  he  came  in  with  a  young  woman 
dressed  in  deep  mourning.  He  introduced  her  and  went 
away  to  join  the  troupe  of  doctors  waiting  for  him  at 
the  first  bed.  She  was  as  charming  as  my  doctor's  friend 
though  not  quite  so  handsome.  But  what  I  chiefly  no- 
ticed and  felt  was  her  deep  sorrow.  Though  she  made 
an  effort  to  appear  cheerful  I  could  see  that  she  was 
weighed  down  by  grief.  It  was  in  her  eyes,  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  in  her  every  motion.  She  told  me 


24o OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

that  her  mother  had  died  recently  and  then  she  sat  quite 
still  looking  about  the  ward.  But  I  knew  that  she  did 
not  see  the  things  at  which  she  was  looking.  After  a 
while  she  asked,  "Would  you  like  me  to  read  to  you?" 
I  thought  that  perhaps  in  this  way  she  would  forget 
for  a  while,  so  I  said  quickly,  "Yes."  The  next  time  she 
came  she  had  a  book  with  her.  All  I  remember  of  it 
is  the  name,  "Under  the  Red  Robe."  I  was  not  in  the 
main  ward  now  but  in  the  annex  where  there  were  only 
ten  beds  occupied  by  patients  that  were  the  least  sick  and 
had  to  remain  long.  Beside  my  bed  there  was  a  fine 
window  facing  Park  Avenue.  And  at  this  window  my 
friend  sat  down  and  read.  Her  voice  was  agreeable  and 
she  read  steadily.  I  was  thinking  as  I  watched  her  face 
that  she  seemed  very  much  interested,  when  suddenly  the 
book  slipped  from  her  hands,  she  laid  her  head  on  my 
pillow  and  wept.  I  looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  moved 
my  face  close  to  hers  and  wept  too. 

One  day  after  she  had  gone  the  patients  whispered  to 
each  other,  and  the  nearest  to  me  asked,  "Do  you 
know  who  that  woman  is  ?"  Of  course  I  did  not.  "She  is 
a  daughter  of  one  of  the  biggest  millionaires  in  the 
United  States.  You  are  very  fortunate  to  have  such  a 
friend."  Then  she  said,  "But  it  is  wasted  on  you."  She 
was  a  grey-haired  woman  with  a  toothless  mouth  and  she 
mumbled  to  herself  about  "throwing  pearls  to  the  swine." 
But  I  thought,  "What  strange  things  happen  in  America, 
the  daughter  of  a  millionaire  and  I  crying  on  one  pil- 
low." Then  I  wondered  why  I  was  receiving  so  much 
attention.  I  did  not  know  that  the  part  of  the  city  where 
I  was  living  was  called  the  East  Side,  or  the  Slums,  or 
the  Ghetto,  and  that  the  face  of  the  East  Side,  or  the 
Slums,  or  the  Ghetto  was  still  new  and  a  curiosity  to  the 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  241 

people  in  this  part  of  the  city,  a  sight  to  cheer  any  un- 
happy person. 

But  the  daily  life  in  the  ward  I  found  quite  as  inter- 
esting as  my  new  friends.  Having  a  fondness  for  "look- 
ing" and  dreaming  and,  I  am  afraid  to  say,  for  idleness, 
the  life  in  bed  exactly  suited  me.  I  heard  many  of  the 
patients  complain  about  the  food  and  the  attendants  and 
that  they  could  not  sleep,  that  life  was  dull  and  they 
longed  to  be  out.  But  not  I.  I  found  every  one  kind 
and  not  a  moment  was  dull  or  monotonous.  There  was 
so  much  to  see  and  every  minute  something  new  seemed 
to  happen.  To  begin  with  the  early  morning  at  five 
o'clock,  when  our  little  night  nurse  brought  us  each  a 
basin  of  water  and  woke  us  to  wash,  I  would  see  that 
her  face  looked  paler  than  it  had  been  in  the  evening,  her 
cap  a  little  askew,  her  apron  not  quite  as  fresh,  and  her 
smile  not  so  bright.  But  she  hurried,  hurried  to  make  up 
as  many  beds  as  possible  before  the  day  nurses  were  to 
come.  She  was  so  sweet,  so  sweet,  this  little  nurse.  There 
was  such  a  warm  touch  in  her  small  roughened  hands. 
At  seven  o'clock  the  day  nurses  came  in  looking  fresh 
and  rested.  I  would  watch  each  one  going  to  her  task 
with  something  of  a  soldier's  regularity.  If  the  break- 
fast happened  to  be  up  they  came  in  at  once  carrying 
the  trays  of  food.  Then  our  ward,  so  quiet  a  minute  be- 
fore, was  filled  with  life.  The  doors  swung  back  and 
forth,  there  was  a  clatter  of  dishes,  a  smell  of  coffee,  and 
the  dull  pat-pat  of  the  nurses'  rubber  soled  shoes  on 
the  floor  as  they  came  tripping  in,  each  carrying  two 
trays,  the  upper  resting  on  two  cups.  The  good  motherly 
nurses  brought  their  trays  in  looking  neat  and  the  food 
was  hot  and  tempting,  while  the  careless  or  indifferent 
ones  came  straggling  in  late  and  the  food  was  cold  and 
spilled  over.  After  breakfast  there  was  a  hustle  and 


242 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

bustle  of  tidying  up,  and  a  sweeper  came  in.  She  was 
a  big,  stout  woman  with  dark,  angry  eyes  and  a  bang 
of  oily  iron-grey  hair  that  curled  all  about  her  forehead. 
When  she  took  a  dislike  to  a  patient  she  would  bang  the 
broom  handle  against  the  bed  as  she  swept  under  it. 
I  used  to  lie  waiting  and  quivering  at  the  thought  of  her 
coming. 

By  nine  o'clock  not  a  safety  pin  was  out  of  place, 
the  patients  lay  back  fresh  and  clean,  and  the  doc- 
tors came  in  to  make  their  rounds.  I  would  prop 
myself  up  against  my  pillows,  smooth  my  bed  clothes, 
and  watch  them  going  from  bed  to  bed.  The  nurses 
lined  up  on  one  side,  the  doctors  on  the  other.  They 
looked  so  different  from  us,  the  people  I  had  been  ac- 
customed to  see  all  my  life.  They  were  tall,  healthy  men 
and  women,  so  well  dressed  with  such  fine  quiet  man- 
ners! And  I  wondered  how  they  lived  outside  of  the 
hospital,  what  their  homes  were  like.  These  two  were 
Americans.  All  Gentile  English-speaking  people  were 
Americans  to  me.  These  looked  so  different  from  our 
Americans  on  Cherry  Street.  Did  they  too  hate  the 
Jews?  Since  I  had  been  here  I  had  not  once  been  made 
to  feel  that  there  was  any  difference.  And  I,  as  I  was 
growing  to  know  and  understand  and  love  the  people  all 
about  me,  was  losing  my  intense  nationalism. 

On  Monday  afternoons  a  missionary  used  to  come 
into  our  ward.  She  was  dressed  in  black  and  I  always 
thought  of  her  as  being  long  and  narrow.  Even  her 
features  were  long  and  narrow.  She  would  give  out 
the  Hymn  Books  and  then  stand  in  the  doorway  between 
the  annex  and  the  main  ward  and  lead  the  singing.  She 
had  a  loud,  shrill  voice  that  could  be  heard  above  the 
voices  of  the  patients.  After  the  singing  as  she  collected 
her  Hymn  Books  she  talked  to  each  of  us.  She  would 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  243 

ask,  "How  do  you  feel?"  But  she  never  stopped  to 
hear  the  answer.  In  the  same  breath  she  would  begin  to 
talk  about  Christ.  The  first  time  she  bent  her  tall  black 
form  over  my  bed  I  felt  very  uncomfortable  and  when 
she  began  to  talk  about  Christ  I  felt  miserable.  Finally 
I  said,  "I  am  a  Jewess,"  and  now  I  thought  she  would  go 
away  at  once.  But  to  my  surprise  she  walked  around  to 
the  other  side  of  the  bed  and  only  now  began  to  talk  to 
me  earnestly.  My  face  began  to  burn.  I  saw  that  she 
wanted  to  convert  me  and  I  on  the  other  hand  thought  it 
a  sin  even  to  listen  to  her.  Finally  I  contrived  to  put  my 
fingers  into  my  ears  and  make  it  appear  that  I  merely  had 
my  hands  over  them.  And  now  I  lay  still  and  looked 
at  her.  Her  lips  moved  rapidly  and  gradually  a 
red  spot  appeared  on  each  cheek,  and  a  tiny  white  bead 
of  foam  worked  itself  into  each  corner  of  her  mouth. 
After  a  few  times  I  felt  that  she  could  never  convert  me 
and  I  no  longer  put  my  fingers  into  my  ears. 

When  mother  came  again  I  told  her  about  everything 
else  but  I  did  not  mention  the  missionary.  I  thought, 
"I  am  perfectly  safe  and  they  will  only  worry  at  home." 
But  danger  came  from  where  I  least  expected  it. 

Besides  the  missionary  another  religious  person  used 
to  come  into  our  ward.  First  he  would  come  in  the  after- 
noon to  distribute  pamphlets.  He  was  a  quiet,  elderly, 
distinguished  looking  man  with  longish  silver  white  hair. 
He  nodded  to  each  patient  as  he  laid  the  pamphlet  on  the 
bed  within  easy  reach,  and  only  stopped  to  talk  to  the 
elderly  women.  I  noticed  that  he  did  not  talk  about 
religion  at  all.  He  asked  them  how  they  were.  He  was 
not  smiling  but  his  pale,  quiet  face  looked  kind  and 
sympathetic.  One  day  as  he  laid  the  magazine  on  my 
bed  he  stopped  and  glanced  at  my  card. 

"Are  you  a  Jewess?"  he  asked  in  his  quiet  way,  look- 


244 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


ing  from  the  card  to  my  face.  I  said,  "Yes."  He  smiled. 
"It  is  a  good  religion,"  he  said  earnestly  and  went 
on  to  the  next  bed.  When  had  I  ever  heard  any  one 
praise  our  religion?  The  words  had  a  strange  effect  on 
me.  I  sat  up  and  watched  him  as  long  as  he  was  in  the 
ward.  I  thought,  "to  this  man  I  would  like  to  talk."  At 
the  end  of  the  day  when  the  sun  was  going  down  and  we 
were  finishing  our  supper,  he  would  come  again  to  say 
prayers.  As  he  came  in  with  his  long,  even  stride  his 
person  invited  peace  and  quiet.  If  a  nurse  were  in  the 
ward  she  would  sit  down  for  a  moment  and  we  patients 
handled  the  dishes  less  noisily.  He  would  stop  in  the 
great  doorway  between  the  annex  and  the  ward  and  turn 
the  pages  of  his  Bible  slowly,  very  slowly,  that  we  might 
have  a  chance  to  finish.  Little  by  little  it  grew  quiet,  the 
last  sounds  came  more  and  more  softly,  the  shifting  of 
trays,  the  tinkle  of  a  spoon  on  a  glass,  a  sigh.  Then 
came  his  earnest  mellow  tone,  low,  yet  filling  every  corner 
of  the  wards,  "Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven." 

After  he  was  gone  I  would  lie  quite  still,  still  hearing 
his  voice ;  his  words  were  on  my  lips.  One  day  I  sat  up 
and  took  the  Bible  from  the  box  in  the  bedstead  and 
looked  at  it  without  opening  it.  This  was  the  first  time  I 
had  touched  it  and  I  felt  guilty  and  uneasy.  Then  I 
thought,  "How  could  it  be  a  sin  to  know  this  man's  re- 
ligion ?"  and  I  opened  it.  There  had  always  been  a  mys- 
tery about  this  Bible  as  well  as  about  the  people  who  read 
it.  The  mystery  about  the  people  was  almost  dissolved 
and  now  about  the  Book  too  I  could  see  nothing  mysteri- 
ous. It  had  a  musty  smell  like  any  other  book  that  was 
old  and  little  used ;  here  and  there  the  pages  stuck  together 
with  a  bit  of  food.  I  put  it  back  into  the  box.  The 
next  day  I  took  it  out  again,  opened  to  the  first  page  and 
picked  out  the  words  that  I  knew.  Those  that  I  could 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 245 

not  read  I  spelled  over  to  the  next  patient  and  she  told 
me  how  to  pronounce  the  words  and  the  meaning.  I 
read  every  day  and  soon  I  was  able  to  read  by  myself. 
And  as  I  began  to  understand  it  I  became  more  and  more 
interested.  Finally  I  thought  about  it  constantly.  I 
wanted  to  understand  the  Christian  religion.  I  was  so 
eager  to  know  and  understand  it,  that  though  I  felt  so 
timid  and  sensitive  I  began  to  talk  about  it,  ask  questions, 
ask  for  explanations  and  soon  I  gave  the  impression  that 
I  wanted  to  become  a  Christian.  One  day  my  doctor's 
friend  asked,  "Ruth,  do  you  really  want  to  become  a 
Christian?"  I  looked  at  her.  "Oh,  no!"  I  said.  She 
laughed  merrily.  "I  thought  not." 

No,  I  did  not  want  to  "become  a  Christian."  And  yet 
I  felt  dreadfully  troubled. 

In  the  meantime  daily  life  in  the  ward  became  even 
more  interesting.  After  weeks  and  weeks  in  bed  I  was  at 
last  allowed  up.  And  when  I  again  learned  to  walk  I 
enjoyed  helping  the  nurses.  I  learned  how  to  make 
beds  beautifully.  I  used  to  bring  the  patients  water.  I 
combed  their  hair.  I  rubbed  their  bed-ridden  backs  with 
alcohol.  I  often  remained  for  hours  at  a  fever  patient's 
bed  and  applied  ice  compresses.  I  was  happy  to  learn  all 
these  things.  I  determined  that  if  any  one  should  be  sick 
after  I  returned  home,  I  would  attend  to  them  just  as  I 
saw  the  patients  here  attended. 

So  three  months  passed.  It  was  a  bright  day  in  June 
when  I  bade  farewell  to  all  my  friends  in  the  Presbyterian 
Hospital.  When  I  came  out  of  the  building  I  looked  up 
at  the  windows.  I  thought  of  the  life  to  which  I  was 
going  and  a  feeling  of  dread  came  over  me.  Then  I 
remembered  that  it  was  three  months  since  I  had  seen  the 
children  and  I  turned  and  walked  quickly  to  the  Third 
Avenue  car. 


246  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LI 

ALTHOUGH  almost  five  years  had  passed  since  I  had 
started  for  America  it  was  only  now  that  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  it.  For  though  I  was  in  America  I  had  lived 
in  practically  the  same  environment  which  we  brought 
from  home.  Of  course  there  was  a  difference  in  our 
joys,  in  our  sorrows,  in  our  hardships,  for  after  all  this 
was  a  different  country;  but  on  the  w^hole  we  were  still 
in  our  village  in  Russia.  A  child  that  came  to  this  coun- 
try and  began  to  go  to  school  had  taken  the  first  step 
into  the  New  World.  But  the  child  that  was  put  into 
the  shop  remained  in  the  old  environment  with  the  old 
people,  held  back  by  the  old  traditions,  held  back  by 
illiteracy.  Often  it  was  years  before  he  could  stir  away 
from  it,  sometimes  it  would  take  a  lifetime.  Sometimes, 
too,  it  happened  as  in  fairy  tales,  that  a  hand  was  held 
out  to  you  and  you  were  helped  out. 

In  my  own  case  it  was  through  the  illness  which  had 
seemed  such  a  misfortune  that  I  had  stirred  out  of 
Cherry  Street.  But  now  that  I  had  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
New  World,  a  revolution  took  place  in  my  whole  being. 
I  was  filled  with  a  desire  to  get  away  from  the  whole 
old  order  of  things.  And  I  went  groping  about  blindly, 
stumbling,  suffering  and  making  others  suffer.  And  then 
through  the  experience,  intelligence  and  understanding 
of  other  beings  a  little  light  came  to  me  and  I  was  able 
to  see  that  the  Old  World  was  not  all  dull  and  the  new 
not  all  glittering.  And  then  I  was  able  to  stand  between 
the  two,  with  a  hand  in  each. 

The  first  thing  that  I  can  recall  after  I  came  from 
the  hospital,  is  a  feeling  of  despondency.  The  rooms 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  247 

seemed  smaller  and  dingier  than  they  had  been.  In  the 
evening  the  lamp  burned  more  dimly.  And  there  was 
a  general  look  of  hopelessness  over  everything.  It  was 
in  every  face,  it  was  in  every  corner  of  our  dull  home 
as  well  as  in  all  the  other  homes  that  I  saw.  It  was 
in  every  sound  that  came  in  from  the  street,  in  every 
sigh  that  I  heard  in  the  house.  I  saw  the  years  stretch- 
ing ahead  of  me,  always  the  same,  and  I  wept  bitterly. 
I  had  never  been  so  aware  of  it  all. 

In  the  shop  where  I  found  work  now  it  was  as  at 
home.  As  I  looked  at  the  men  I  could  not  help  compar- 
ing them  with  those  other  men.  To  the  little  insinuating 
jokes  and  stories  I  listened  now,  not  with  resignation  as 
before  but  with  anger.  "Why  should  this  be?  Why 
should  they  talk  like  that?"  And  I  was  filled  with  a 
blinding  dislike  for  the  whole  class  of  tailors. 

But  I  did  not  give  my  entire  thought  to  what  I  saw 
about  me.  As  the  days  passed  I  became  aware  that  I 
was  waiting  for  something,  for  what  I  could  scarcely 
say.  Away  in  the  back  of  my  head  there  was  this 
thought,  "Surely  this  would  not  end  here.  Would  this 
be  all  I  would  see  of  that  other  world  outside  of  Cherry 
Street?"  And  I  waited  from  day  to  day. 

In  the  meantime  I  filled  up  the  days  at  work  with 
dreaming  of  that  other  life  I  had  seen.  I  thought  a  good 
deal  about  that  fine  old  man  the  minister.  His  words  and 
his  voice  had  remained  fresh  in  my  mind.  Of  course  I 
must  not  breathe  a  word  at  home  about  him,  about  the 
New  Testament.  This  necessity  for  secrecy  soon  led  to 
other  little  secret  thoughts  and  actions.  It  soon  occurred 
to  me,  "Why  should  I  not  read  the  New  Testament  if 
I  want  to?  Why  should  I  not  do  anything  I  like?  If 
four  months  ago  father  thought  me  old  enough  to  get 
married,  then  I  am  certainly  old  enough  now  to  decide 


248 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

things  for  myself."  So  I  stopped  consulting  mother  and 
began  to  do  little  things  independently.  It  was  not  hard 
to  do  this  for  during  the  three  months  I  had  grown  away 
from  home  a  good  deal  and  now  with  the  thought  of 
my  experience  in  which  they  had  no  part,  every  day  I 
was  slipping  away  little  by  little. 

Mother  noticed  and  her  eyes  looked  troubled  but  I  did 
not  understand  their  meaning.  Father  had  tightened  the 
reins  of  authority  and  I  only  tried  the  harder  to  writhe 
myself  free.  My  only  thought  now  was  of  myself  and 
the  world  outside  of  home  and  Cherry  Street.  But  un- 
derneath all  this  perversity  and  selfishness  I  can  see  now, 
as  I  look  back,  a  deep  longing  to  see,  to  know,  to 
understand. 

In  the  Settlement  I  was  not  so  often  now.  Miss  Wald 
saw  that  I  came  home  looking  well  and  at  once  found 
work.  So  she  thought  she  would  leave  well  enough 
alone.  Besides,  I  had  told  her  about  my  friends  in  the 
hospital,  so  perhaps  she  thought  that  she  would  stand 
aside  and  give  the  others  a  chance. 

The  Settlement  was,  of  course,  included  in  my  mind 
in  that  outside  world  of  which  I  dreamed.  But  I  felt 
too  timid  to  go  there  often  even  on  invitation  without 
a  "reason,"  some  one  of  the  reasons  for  which  the  Set- 
tlement seemed  to  be  established. 

One  day,  however,  when  I  was  thinking  of  the  New 
Testament,  it  occurred  to  me  to  go  to  the  nurses  and  ask 
for  it.  Where  would  I  get  it  if  not  from  them?  They 
were  Gentiles  and  they  would  surely  have  it.  And  I 
started  at  once  with  that  new  something  in  me  that 
was  defiant  of  all  the  old  life. 

I  found  Miss  Brewster  in  the  little  basement  and  asked 
her  for  it  timidly  and  with  great  uncertainty.  For  it  was 
hard  for  a  Jewish  girl,  brought  up  as  I  had  been,  even 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 249 

to  utter  the  words,  "I  want  to  read  the  New  Testament." 
The  thought  of  becoming  a  Christian  was  nowhere  in  my 
mind,  but  this  would  be  the  first  real  step  beyond  the 
boundary. 

Miss  Brewster  looked  at  me  silently  and  as  if  she  did 
not  quite  understand  and  I  felt  still  more  uneasy  under 
her  observation  and  explained  eagerly,  "I  want  so  to  read 
it."  She  finally  said,  "I  am  afraid,  Ruth  dear,  we  can  not 
give  it  to  you.  You  see  your  father  would  think,  'True, 
the  nurses  have  been  kind  to  my  daughter  but  they  have 
led  her  away  from  our  faith.'  And  that  would  never 
do  for  the  Settlement.  Do  you  see?"  I  was  beginning 
to  feel  a  little  guilty.  What  she  said,  the  way  she  said 
it  and  looked  at  me  made  me  feel  that  I  was  wrong  to 
act  in  secrecy.  Again  she  observed  me  for  a  long  mo- 
ment, then  she  put  her  arm  around  me  and  said  pleas- 
antly, "Come!"  We  walked  up  the  little  staircase  to 
the  sitting  rooms  on  the  first  floor.  She  put  me  into 
a  deep  chair  and  then  she  knelt  before  the  bookcase.  She 
hummed  cheerfully  as  she  looked  from  shelf  to  shelf,  and 
I  sat  and  watched  her.  Her  every  motion  to  me  was 
new  and  interesting  and  charming.  She  represented  the 
people  I  wanted  to  know,  the  new  life  I  desired. 

She  finally  held  out  to  me  a  tiny  volume  and  said  with 
a  smile  and  in  that  rich  voice  of  hers,  "Here,  Ruth,  is  a 
sweet  love  story,  read  it."  And  I  took  it  away  with  me. 
The  name  of  it  I  do  not  remember  and  though  it  was 
not  the  Bible,  for  the  time  being  it  satisfied  me.  Indeed 
just  at  present  it  did  more  than  that,  it  filled  me  with 
joy,  for,  strange  and  stupid  as  it  may  seem,  it  had  not 
occurred  to  me  that  now  I  could  read  anything.  I  felt 
so  proud  that  I  could  read  an  English  book  that  I  carried 
it  about  with  me  in  the  street.  I  took  it  along  to  the 
shop.  I  became  quite  vain.  Often  as  I  looked  about  me 


250 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

while  walking  through  the  street  it  seemed  to  me  that 
now  I  did  not  belong  here.  I  did  not  feel  a  part  of  it 
all  as  I  did  formerly.  But  very  soon  something  hap- 
pened which  showed  me  that  indeed  it  was  here  that 
I  belonged.  One  day  a  letter  came  from  my  doctor's 
friend.  This  was  the  thing  for  which  I  had  been  waiting 
and  this  too  was  the  first  letter  I  had  ever  received.  But 
I  could  not  read  it.  The  children  could  not  read  it  either 
except  a  word  here  and  there.  They  pored  over  the 
crisp  blue  paper  while  I  stood  over  them  anxiously  and 
then  they  handed  it  back  to  me.  "It  is  written  in  a 
'fancy'  handwriting,"  they  said.  And  then  like  any  poor 
illiterate  old  woman  I  had  to  run  to  a  drug  store  and 
ask  a  clerk  to  read  my  letter  to  me.  I  felt  ashamed  be- 
fore the  clerk  at  not  being  able  to  read.  I  determined 
to  try  and  learn  a  little  from  the  children  and  again  go 
to  night  school  when  winter  came. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  251 


LII 

MY  education,  if  it  can  be  so  called,  began  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner  and  continued  in  the  same  painful 
unsystematic  way  all  through  the  years.  Self  conscious- 
ness and  timidity  were  a  hindrance  and  I  was  always 
ashamed  of  showing  my  ignorance.  But  we  were  all 
ashamed  of  showing  our  ignorance.  A  girl  who  could 
not  read  and  write  would  do  anything  to  hide  it.  We 
were  as  much  ashamed  of  it  as  we  were  of  our  poverty. 
Indeed,  to  show  one  was  to  show  the  other.  They  seemed 
inseparable. 

My  education,  then,  began  in  this  wise.  An  informal 
talk  was  to  be  given  on  Shakespeare  at  the  Nurses'  Set- 
tlement and  Miss  Wald  or  Miss  Brewster,  I  do  not 
remember  which,  urged  me  to  come  and  I  promised. 
The  lecture  was  in  the  sitting  room  in  the  East  Broadway 
house.  From  the  doorway  I  saw  about  half  a  dozen 
women  of  the  type  that  we  looked  upon  as  "teachers" 
sitting  in  easy  chairs  and  discoursing  in  low  tones.  And 
at  a  little  table,  on  which  there  was  a  shaded  lamp,  one 
woman  sat  with  some  papers  before  her.  As  I  took  in 
the  atmosphere,  so  foreign  to  me,  and  the  type  of  people, 
I  was  at  once  sorry  that  I  had  come  and  I  glanced  into 
the  corners  for  an  inconspicuous  seat,  when  an  over 
kind  lady  came  over  and  fairly  forced  me  into  a  chair 
at  the  little  table,  right  opposite  the  lecturer,  and  put  a 
volume  into  my  hands.  I  felt  the  light  full  upon  me.  It 
was  on  my  hands,  it  shone  into  my  lap,  it  seemed  to  shine 
right  into  me,  showing  my  ignorance. 

The  evening  passed  in  perfect  misery  and  I  heard  little 
more  than  a  buzzing  of  voices  with  every  now  and  then 


252 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

such  words  as  "Shakespeare,"  "plays,"  "new  edition," 
"old  edition,"  "a  later  edition,"  and  then,  "You  can  get  it 
in  the  library." 

I  breathed  with  relief  only  when  I  came  out  into  the 
street.  But  by  then  I  was  glad  that  I  had  gone  and  glad 
that  I  had  remained.  And  now  as  usual  after  it  was 
all  over  the  things  I  had  seen  and  heard  came  back  to 
me  distinctly  and  I  reflected  over  them.  Shakespeare, 
this  was  an  old  friend.  I  remembered  the  men  in  Mr. 
Cohen's  shop  discussing  Shakespeare's  plays.  Evidently 
Shakespeare  wrote  that  book  that  had  been  in  my  lap. 
I  felt  proud  of  this  new  knowledge  and  I  walked  home 
with  a  feeling  of  superiority  over  myself  of  the  day 
before. 

I  do  not  know  how  but  it  was  now  that  I  found  that 
there  were  such  things  as  free  libraries  and  I  joined  the 
one  at  the  Educational  Alliance.  I  felt  greatly  awed 
when  I  looked  around  from  my  place  in  the  line  to  the 
librarians'  desk  and  saw  the  shelves  and  shelves  of  books 
and  the  stream  of  people  hastening  in  and  out  with  books 
under  their  arms.  Nevertheless  I  held  my  head  high. 
Couldn't  I  read  now?  And  if  I  could  read  the  whole 
world  of  knowledge  was  open  to  me.  So  I  imagined. 
When  my  turn  came  at  the  desk  I  said  to  the  librarian, 
"Please  give  me  the  best  thing  that  Shakespeare  wrote." 
She  looked  at  me  questioningly.  "Do  you  want  his 
plays?"  I  reflected,  the  word  play  suddenly  suggested 
to  me  entertainment  and  I  wanted  something  serious. 
"Is  that  the  best?"  I  asked.  She  shrugged  and  smiled 
a  little.  She  was  a  pretty  Jewish-American  girl.  "I  don't 
know  which  is  his  best,"  she  said.  It  surprised  me  to 
hear  her  acknowledge  her  ignorance  so  frankly.  She 
asked  again,  "Do  you  want  his  life?"  I  thought  the 
story  of  a  person's  life  must  be  interesting,  but  no  doubt 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  253 

it  was  hard  to  understand.  Perhaps  I  had  better  begin 
with  a  play. 

"A  play,"  I  said. 

"Which?" 

"Any." 

She  brought  me  a  volume  and  when  I  was  out  in  the 
hall  and  alone  I  stopped  and  read  the  name  slowly — 
"Julius  Ccesar." 

I  pored  and  pored  over  my  book  for  two  weeks.  I 
put  it  away  and  went  to  it  again  and  tried  to  understand 
it.  But  all  I  could  get  out  of  it  were  words  here  and 
there.  I  could  not  get  any  meaning  out  of  any  of  it. 
I  felt  heart  sore  and  humiliated.  I  think  it  was  then  that 
I  fully  realised  how  little  I  knew,  how  ignorant  I  was. 
I  decided  to  be  guided  by  the  librarian.  Her  frank 
acknowledgment  that  she  did  not  know  which  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  was  the  best  made  a  deep  impression  on 
me  and  I  decided  that  I  too  would  be  frank  with  her. 

The  next  time  I  stood  before  her  desk  I  said  to  her, 
"I  can  read  just  a  little  and  I  do  not  understand  much. 
Will  you  give  me  a  book? — any  book — like  for  a  child." 
She  brought  me  "Little  Women." 


254  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LIII 

FATHER  did  not  take  kindly  to  my  reading.  How 
could  he!  He  saw  that  I  took  less  and  less  interest  in 
the  home,  that  I  was  more  dreamy,  that  I  kept  more  to 
myself.  Evidently  reading  and  running  about  and  lis- 
tening to  "speeches,"  as  he  called  it,  was  not  doing  me  any 
good.  But  what  father  feared  most  was  that  now  I  was 
mingling  so  much  with  Gentiles  and  reading  Gentile 
books,  I  would  wander  away  from  the  Jewish  faith.  This 
fear  caused  great  trouble  and  misunderstanding  between 
us.  Of  that  period  this  is  the  first  outbreak  I  recall. 

One  day  my  brother,  the  one  who  had  once  dreamed 
of  becoming  a  great  Rabbi,  and  who  was  still  very  re- 
ligious, on  looking  through  my  library  book  found  the 
word  Christ.  At  once  he  took  the  book  to  father  and 
pointed  out  the  offending  word.  Father  became  terribly 
angry.  Then  his  fears  were  well  founded.  I  must  be 
reading  about  Christ !  He  caught  up  the  book  and  flung 
it  out  of  the  window.  And  when  I  looked  out  and  saw 
the  covers  torn  off  and  the  pages  lying  scattered  in  the 
yard  I  turned  into  a  perfect  fury,  as  on  one  or  two  other 
occasions  in  my  life.  I  wept  aloud  that  I  had  a  right  to 
know,  to  learn,  to  understand.  I  wept  bitterly  that  I  was 
horribly  ignorant,  that  I  had  been  put  into  the  world 
but  had  been  denied  a  chance  to  learn.  Father  and 
mother  stood  staring  at  me.  "Wild  talk,"  they  said. 
Surely!  And  no  one  was  more  surprised  at  it  than  I 
myself.  I  could  not  have  told  when  these  thoughts  first 
began,  whom  I  was  blaming,  who  was  to  blame ! 

After  this  there  were  long  periods  when  father  and  I 
did  not  talk  to  each  other. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  255 

But  little  by  little  as  the  weeks  were  passing  I  was 
again  becoming  quieter  and  more  submissive.  Again  my 
health  was  breaking  down  and  at  the  end  of  two  months 
I  was  almost  in  the  same  condition  as  before  I  left  for 
the  hospital  and  I  was  again  falling  into  despondency 
and  indifference.  About  this  time  the  doctor  from  the 
hospital  surprised  us  with  a  visit  and  when  he  saw  that 
I  was  again  run  down  he  told  me  to  come  to  the  hos- 
pital and  rest.  "Come  whenever  you  feel  ill,"  he  said. 
And  so  before  long  I  was  back  once  more. 

During  the  weeks  when  I  had  again  grown  so  pale 
father  was  gentler  and  kinder  to  me.  He  was  not  home 
when  I  was  starting  off  but  mother  and  the  children  stood 
at  the  window  and  watched  me  go.  Mother's  face  was 
so  full  of  sorrow  and  I  too  wept.  But  this  time  I  was 
glad  to  go  from  home. 


256  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LIV 

THE  winter  was  divided  between  the  hospital  and  the 
shop.  When  I  was  well  I  worked;  when  I  felt  sick  I 
went  to  the  hospital.  And  here  was  my  chance.  I  was 
hearing  good  English,  I  was  reading  and  with  the  trait 
of  my  race  for  adaptability  I  was  quickly  learning  the 
ways  of  this  country. 

But  at  home  and  in  the  shop  life  became  harder  and 
harder.  Once  or  twice  I  tried  other  work.  I  tried  do- 
mestic service  again.  I  went  to  take  care  of  a  baby  and 
a  house  but  my  mistress  found  it  more  profitable  to 
put  me  to  sell  newspapers  at  the  newsstand  which  she 
kept.  It  was  near  a  saloon  in  a  wretched  neighbourhood 
and  I  soon  left  it.  The  second  place  was  good  but  here 
I  had  to  light  the  fire  on  the  Sabbath.  Now  I  was  no 
longer  pious.  I  observed  very  few  of  the  rites  but  there 
were  some  of  the  laws  that  I  could  not  break.  To  obey 
them  seemed  bred  in  the  bone.  While  I  was  in  the  hos- 
pital, of  course,  I  ate  the  meat  that  was  there  but  I  was 
conscious  all  the  time  that  I  was  eating  trafe  meat.  And 
to  touch  fire  on  the  Sabbath  I  could  not  bear.  Then,  too, 
besides,  when  I  was  leaving  for  this  place  of  service 
mother  begged  me  not  to  break  the  Sabbath.  In  her  own 
words,  "I  would  rather  walk  barefooted  than  that  you 
should  earn  money  while  breaking  the  Sabbath."  So 
I  left  this  place  too. 

Then  I  went  to  work  for  a  tailor  who  was  a  member 
of  father's  society.  He  told  us  he  was  working  in  a  suit 
establishment  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirty-eighth  Street. 
The  suits  were  valued  from  fifty  dollars  up  and  he  needed 
a  girl  to  help  him  with  the  lighter  work,  pinking  ruffles, 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  257 

felling  lining  and  so  on.  Here  I  went  gladly.  I  thought, 
"It  is  uptown  and  they  are  working  on  silks."  I  pictured 
an  ideal  shop.  But  I  soon  found  that  it  was  the  same 
thing.  I  saw  finely  fitted  up  offices,  beautiful  salesrooms 
and  fitting  rooms,  but  we,  the  tailors,  were  huddled  to- 
gether into  the  dark  basement.  The  men  joked  that  we 
were  pressed  together  like  herring  in  a  barrel.  The 
tailor  who  sat  next  to  me  once  said  that  he  was  sur- 
prised at  his  own  decency.  He  wondered  that  he  was 
not  a  worse  animal  than  he  was.  I  soon  left  the  shop 
in  disgust. 

One  day  when  I  was  leaving  the  hospital,  after  a 
lengthy  stay  there,  the  doctor's  friend  said,  "This  will 
not  do.  I  can't  imagine  what  those  places  are  like  where 
you  work  that  you  get  run  down  so  quickly."  She  looked 
thoughtful  for  a  few  minutes,  then  she  added,  "I  am 
going  to  find  you  work  myself."  She  said  this  as  though 
now  she  was  going  to  settle  the  thing  once  and  for  all. 
She  took  me  into  her  carriage  and  we  started.  I  could 
not  help  smiling  at  this  unusual  and  pleasant  way  of 
looking  for  a  job. 

On  the  way  she  explained  to  me  that  she  would  take 
me  to  the  establishment  where  she  was  having  her  suits 
made.  She  was  a  good  customer  and  Mr.  S.  would 
surely  find  work  for  me  among  his  tailors.  The  car- 
riage stopped  before  a  fine  brown-stone  building.  But 
when  I  looked  out  my  heart  sank.  This  was  the  place 
on  Fifth  Avenue  where  I  had  worked.  It  did  not  even 
occur  to  me  to  tell  her  about  this  shop.  What  was  the 
use  and  what  could  I  say  to  her?  What  one  heard  in 
a  shop  I  felt  was  not  to  be  talked  about  to  anybody,  espe- 
cially to  one  who  knew  nothing  about  shops. 

She  left  me  in  the  carriage  and  went  in  to  inquire 
while  I  sat  and  prayed  that  there  might  be  no  work  for 


258  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

me.  When  she  returned  she  said  that  there  would  be 
work  for  me  in  a  few  days.  But  I  never  went  to  this 
place,  for  little  by  little  I  became  indifferent  to  work 
altogether,  at  least  to  the  kind  of  work  that  was  within 
my  reach.  What  with  the  long  periods  of  idleness  after 
each  job,  the  months  of  inactivity  in  the  hospital,  the 
natural  apathy  due  to  the  illness,  the  miserable  conditions 
in  the  shops,  I  lost  all  taste  for  work,  I  lost  my  pride  of 
independence,  I  lost  my  spirit 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  259 


LV 

IN  the  spring,  a  year  from  the  time  when  I  first  went 
to  the  hospital,  my  health  was  poorer  than  ever  and  my 
friends  there  began  to  look  upon  me  as  a  problem,  and 
finally  to  send  me  to  various  institutions  for  recupera- 
tion. The  illness  had  procured  me  that  freedom  from 
home  for  which  I  had  longed.  But  though  I  was  so  free, 
now  less  than  ever  my  destiny  seemed  in  my  own  hands. 
The  illness  and  my  friends  seemed  to  steer  it  and  I  did 
meekly  whatever  I  was  told.  I  asked  no  questions.  I 
offered  no  resistance. 

At  first,  as  to  the  hospital,  I  carried  a  change  of  cloth- 
ing wherever  I  went.  But  I  soon  realised  that  I  did  not 
need  it.  We  were  provided.  In  some  of  the  institu- 
tions we  wore  blue,  in  some  grey,  in  others  checks  or 
stripes.  In  some  of  the  places  my  companions  were  old, 
in  some  young,  in  others  mixed.  And  when  I  put  on 
my  wrapper  I  felt  that  I  became  a  part  of  the  rest  of 
the  dependents,  a  part  of  the  house,  a  part  of  all  that  I 
saw  about  me.  This  troubled  me,  but  little  by  little  I 
became  used  to  it. 


260  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LVI 

WHEN  the  warm  weather  came  I  was  to  go  to  a  place 
in  the  country  called  White  Birch  Farm.  I  was  in  the 
hospital  when  the  doctor's  friend  told  me  about  it  and 
also  that  she  was  sending  out  another  girl,  Irene,  who 
was  not  strong  and  that  I  must  be  friends  with  her  and 
take  care  of  her.  Then  one  day,  just  as  I  was  leaving 
the  hospital,  I  was  called  to  the  office  to  see  the  doctor. 
He  said  in  his  cheerful  kind  manner,  "You  are  going  to 
the  country  and  I  think  this  will  take  you  to  Grand 
Central,"  and  he  pressed  a  half  dollar  into  my  hand. 
After  this  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  and  scarcely  knew 
how  I  left  the  building.  When  I  was  outside  I  stood 
still.  In  my  hand  was  the  half  dollar,  the  first  direct 
gift  of  charity  to  myself.  My  face  burned.  "I  can  refuse 
it,"  I  thought.  "I  can  take  it  right  back — but  then,  I  must 
refuse  everything  else,  the  help,  the  going  away" — and 
going  away  had  become  a  necessity.  I  could  no  longer 
stand  the  mournful  looks  at  home,  and  I  was  by  now 
used  to  having  a  bed  all  to  myself.  When  I  reached 
home  and  told  them  that  I  was  going  away  mother  cried 
bitterly :  What  would  be  the  end  of  all  this  going  away, 
of  staying  away  from  my  own  people,  what  would  it 
lead  to? 

The  next  day  at  Grand  Central  I  was  met  by  a  lady, 
with  her  was  Irene  and  when  we  took  our  seats  in  the 
train  I  realised  that  I  was  going  further  away  from 
home  than  I  had  yet  been. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  261 


LVII 

WHITE  BIRCH  FARM  (there  were  no  animals  except 
a  white  bull  dog  and  none  of  the  ground  was  tilled) 
turned  out  to  be  a  summer  house  run  for  needy  city  chil- 
dren sent  in  batches  of  about  sixteen  every  two  weeks. 
The  house  belonged  to  a  doctor — who,  I  heard,  was  a 
very  kind  man.  He  bought  the  place  for  the  purpose 
and  he  was  supplying  all  the  money  to  run  it.  The  house, 
which  was  white,  large,  and  had  green  shutters,  stood 
close  to  the  road.  Across  the  road  there  was  a  barn, 
greyed  by  time  and  weather,  and  beyond  it  thirty  acres 
of  ground  for  the  children  to  play  on.  On  these  grounds, 
down  one  hill  and  up  another,  there  was  a  small  wood 
they  called  the  Grove  and  at  the  foot  of  it  a  brook  ran. 
There  was  a  dam  and  a  good  stretch  of  the  water  was 
deep  enough  for  swimming  and  diving. 

The  house  was  in  charge  of  Miss  Farly  who  brought 
us  down.  Besides  her,  and  Irene  and  myself,  there  were 
two  coloured  women  as  help.  The  children  had  not  yet 
begun  to  come.  The  house  was  being  prepared  for  them. 
I  was  helping  but  had  a  good  deal  of  time  to  myself  and 
I  walked  about  outside.  I  did  not  go  far  from  the 
house.  I  felt  troubled.  There  was  the  great  quiet.  The 
fields  lay  so  still.  Yet  life  seemed  to  be  teeming  and 
the  air  was  filled  with  silent  voices. 

Then  it  began  to  appear  as  though  the  things  were 
coming  out  of  a  dream.  It  was  all  so  strange  yet 
familiar. 

In  about  three  days  I  went  further  from  the  house 
and  walked  among  the  trees.  I  walked  in  among  some 
low  bushes.  The  leaves  touched  my  face  and  I  stood 


262  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

still.  The  quiet  seemed  to  surround  me  and  every  now 
and  then  there  was  a  twit,  a  rustle,  and  overhead  the 
sky  shone  blue.  There  seemed  to  be  all  this  and  I  alone 
with  it.  I  felt  my  body  quivering  with  strange  feel- 
ings, strange  thoughts  came  into  my  mind. 

In  the  house  too  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  living  in  a 
fairy  tale.  There  was  a  dining  room  and  a  sitting  room, 
and  off  the  porch  a  little  writing  room.  Upstairs  there 
were  bedrooms.  Irene  and  I  shared  a  small  one.  From 
the  window  in  my  corner  I  could  see  some  fine  old  trees, 
a  bit  of  road,  a  field,  and  in  the  distance  the  side  of  a 
house  gleaming  white. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  "institution"  about  this  place 
and  I  soon  recovered  my  spirits  as  well  as  my  health. 
My  face  became  brown  and  rosy.  The  sun  bleached  my 
hair,  and  again  I  began  to  find  pleasure  in  whatever 
work  I  did  but  that  was  also  perhaps  because  I  loved 
Miss  Farly.  I  was  often  jealous  of  her,  at  which  she 
laughed,  scolded  me  and  looked  pleased.  I  worked  well 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  this  summer  I  did  little  more 
than  play — or  else  even  work  was  play. 

I  saw  here  modern,  orderly,  systematic  housekeeping. 
There  was  time  for  everything,  room  for  everything, 
money  for  everything  that  was  necessary.  The  thought 
did  not  come  to  me  that  all  this  was  possible  because 
there  was  means.  I  only  saw  the  facts.  Miss  Farly  was 
a  trained  nurse  and  a  woman  of  education.  She  could 
also  do  things  that  I  had  only  seen  men  do,  or  that  I  had 
not  seen  done  at  all.  She  could  paint;  she  could  cal- 
cimine ;  dressed  in  a  linen  walking  skirt  and  a  shirt  waist, 
and  a  paper  cap  I  would  make  for  her,  she  would  work 
for  hours  at  a  stretch,  studying  directions  as  she  went 
along  and  her  fair  face  was  flushed  with  the  exertion  and 
the  pleasure.  She  could  do  wonders  with  a  grocery  box, 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  263 

a  few  yards  of  cretonne  and  some  brass-headed  tacks. 
And  I  would  be  helping  her.  There  again,  then,  was  my 
chance.  In  the  hospital  I  had  learned  how  to  take  care 
of  a  sick  person,  of  a  sick  room;  and  here  I  was  learning 
something  of  modern  housekeeping.  Miss  Farly  also 
had  excellent  taste  for  shape,  design  and  colour.  And 
this  too  I  was  learning — or  else,  seeing  things,  I  knew 
what  I  wanted. 

From  the  children  I  was  learning  their  games.  They 
were  from  the  ages  of  seven  to  twelve;  I  was  seventeen 
but  now  I  too  was  twelve.  I  ran  races  with  them.  I 
played  wolf  and  when  the  boys  played  baseball  and  were 
"short  of  men,"  they  would  magnanimously  take  in  Irene 
and  me  and  I  was  as  happy  as  could  be  when  I  managed 
to  make  "a  home  run."  We  played  in  the  grove,  we 
swam  in  the  brook — I  learned  how  to  swim  and  dive. 

I  loved  the  spot  near  the  brook.  The  trees  here  grew 
close,  bending  into  an  arch  over  the  water.  The  sun  pene- 
trated only  in  spots  so  that  here  it  was  greener  and  fresher 
than  anywhere  else  and  the  air  was  sweet  and  moist 
and  cool.  The  water  over  the  dam  fell  with  a  rustle  and 
the  children's  voices  in  the  grove  sounded  far  away.  I 
loved  to  sit  here  on  one  of  the  rocks  and  dream. 

On  rainy  days  and  evenings  we  played  in  the  basement. 
The  walls  here  were  rough  and  whitewashed.  There 
was  a  large  fireplace  and  a  few  benches.  Of  an 
evening  then  we  would  hang  up  some  lanterns,  make  a 
good  fire  and  draw  up  our  seats.  Some  of  the  boys 
played  on  their  harmonicas,  the  girls  sang  the  latest 
songs  and  I  sang  Russian  and  Jewish  ones. 

It  was  with  reluctance  and  at  a  great  deal  of  urging 
from  Miss  Farly  that  I  began  to  sing.  I  expected 
laughter  and  ridicule  from  the  children.  And  I  was  not 
wrong.  But  Miss  Farly  made  an  example  of  the  first 


264        OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

boy  who  tittered  by  sending  him  out  of  the  room.  After 
that  it  was  quiet  whenever  I  sang  and  little  by  little  they 
became  used  to  hearing  me. 

The  children  were  descendants  of  many  nationalities, 
Irish,  German,  Italian,  American.  The  Jews  had  not 
yet  begun  to  come.  They  would  only  begin  with  me. 
Some  of  the  children  were  rough,  like  the  roughest  on 
Cherry  Street.  Many  of  the  children  were  very  poor. 
When  they  sat  down  at  the  table  it  was  evident 
that  those  who  had  been  receiving  little  bread  had  also 
little  manners.  They  ate  greedily  as  if  they  would  make 
up  for  the  time  when  they  had  not  had  enough.  Soon 
I  also  learned  to  tell  which  children  had  never  seen  the 
country  before.  These  usually  greeted  the  great  out- 
doors with  a  whoop  and  a  yell  and  a  busy  time  began  for 
Miss  Farly  and  her  two  aid-de-camps,  Irene  and  my- 
self. The  boys  began  to  run  about  wildly,  scurrying  over 
fences  and  ignoring  all  boundaries,  climbing  trees,  tear- 
ing down  whole  limbs,  filling  their  pockets  with  green 
apples,  filling  even  their  stockings  and  trying  to  smuggle 
them  up  to  bed  to  take  home.  And  the  little  girls  would 
begin  to  pick  hastily  everything  in  sight,  not  stopping 
to  distinguish  between  flowers  and  weeds  and  pulling  all 
up  by  the  roots.  But  after  a  day  or  two  the  boys  began 
to  play  more  quietly  and  the  little  girls  would  select  their 
flowers  and  content  themselves  with  few,  knowing  that 
the  next  day  they  could  pick  again. 

Sometimes  as  I  watched  them,  I  tried  to  picture  our 
Cherry  Street  children  scattered  over  the  fields.  And  on 
the  following  summer  I  did  see  them  there,  and  my  own 
sister  and  brothers  were  among  them. 

Miss  Farly  treated  Irene  and  me  very  much  like  the 
rest  of  the  children.  She  counted  us  in  among  them 
when  asked  how  many  there  were  at  the  house  and  we 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  265 

ate  with  them.  But  otherwise,  in  the  house  as  well  as 
out  of  doors  we  were  her  companions.  Often  then  while 
the  children  played  in  the  fields  we  three  would  sit 
on  the  piazza,  sewing,  and  Miss  Farly  would  talk  to  us 
confidentially,  particularly  to  me — for  of  Irene  and  my- 
self I  was  the  more  interested  because  to  me  it  was  all 
so  new.  I  would  perhaps  lead  up  with  some  remark  or 
question  on  the  subject  that  still  troubled  me,  religion, 
and  she  would  explain  to  me  as  simply  as  possible  many 
little  things  of  Christianity,  of  the  various  denominations, 
and  of  the  differences  between  them.  And  as  for  her,  I 
don't  think  she  had  ever  known  any  Jews  intimately  be- 
fore, so  she  was  as  curious  about  me  and  my  people  and 
our  customs  as  I  was  about  hers.  I  would  explain  to  her 
as  best  I  could  our  life  as  Jews  and  some  of  the  laws, 
many  of  which  seemed  trivial  on  the  surface  but  many  of 
which  had  good  reasons,  either  moral  or  physical.  So 
we  would  converse;  nor  did  she  make  me  feel  that  there 
was  any  difference  because  I  was  a  Jewess. 

But  twice  the  most  serious  question  came  up  between 
us — the  question  that  so  often  has  agitated  the  whole 
world,  that  has  often  no  doubt  filled  even  the  kindest 
Gentile  heart  with  doubt  and  suspicion,  that  has  made 
Jews  all  over  the  world  band  together  and  appeal  to  God 
and  men  against  the  false  accusation — the  question  of 
the  Jews'  needing  the  blood  of  a  Christian  child  for  the 
Passover.  This  question  was  by  no  means  unpopular 
at  the  time.  Somewhere  in  Europe  a  child  had  been 
found  murdered  and  a  Jew  was  accused  and  was  being 
tried  for  his  life. 

The  first  time  this  came  up  among  many  other  mat- 
ters, she  merely  wanted  to  hear  my  explanation  of  it;  it 
was  quite  understood  that  she  did  not  believe  it.  I  felt 
my  face  flush.  What  could  I  explain?  I  could  not  ex- 


266  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

press  myself  well  enough  in  English.  To  myself  it  was 
quite  clear.  All  our  laws  tended  to  point  against  it.  No 
Jew  himself  may  kill  even  a  fowl  but  must  take  it  to  the 
one  certain  man  who  has  studied  the  laws  in  regard 
to  it  and  made  it  his  profession.  There  would  perhaps 
be  one  such  man  in  a  whole  town.  Ten  miles  my  little 
grandfather  used  to  walk  to  have  a  rooster  killed  that 
we  might  have  meat  in  honour  of  the  Sabbath  even  if 
we  had  to  go  without  it  all  the  week.  For  weeks  and 
weeks  we  would  be  without  it  altogether  because  it  was 
inconvenient  to  go.  And  yet  we  would  not  kill!  Even 
the  little  children  knew  that  this  law  was  necessary  so 
that  each  individual  might  not  become  hardened  to  the 
habit  of  killing,  also  because  a  professional  hand  would 
save  the  animal  unnecessary  suffering.  How  could  it  be 
possible  then  that  we  needs  must  kill  a  little  human  child ! 

Within  my  own  knowledge  and  remembrance  there 

was  just  this .  One  warm  afternoon  in  the  spring 

when  I  was  a  child  in  our  village,  our  little  old  great 
aunt  from  the  next  village  came  running.  Her  white 
close  fitting  cap  was  all  awry  on  her  head,  her  face  was 
pale,  her  lips  dry  and  covered  with  dust.  "Children !"  she 
cried  at  the  door.  "Fast !  fast  all  of  you,  large  and  small. 
In  a  town  not  far  away  Jewish  blood  is  flowing  like 
water.  A  Christian  child  has  been  found  murdered  and 
they  say  the  Jews  have  killed  it  for  the  Passover."  And 
she  ran  on  to  warn  the  one  or  two  Jewish  families  in 
the  next  village  and  my  mother  shut  the  door  care- 
fully and  put  the  supper  away  for  the  morrow. 

The  second  time  this  question  came  up  between  Miss 
Farly  and  myself  was  years  later.  It  was  a  cold  evening 
in  September,  the  children  were  all  in  bed  and  Miss 
Farly  and  I,  perhaps  Irene  too,  I  do  not  recall,  were 
in  the  sitting  room.  There  was  a  good  fire  in  the  grate 


HE  AND   MOTHER  CARTED  OVER  THE  FURNITURE  ON   A   PUSH-CART. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  267 

and  we  felt  friendly  and  congenial  as  we  sat  reading. 
Then,  I  don't  remember  how  it  happened,  but  Miss  Farly 
picked  up  a  large  new  volume  bought  recently  I  think, 
and  began  to  read  to  me  a  poem  right  from  the  beginning 
of  the  book  which  appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  an  introduc- 
tion or  opening  poem.  It  told  of  a  garden  where  there 
was  sunshine  and  flowers  and  where  two  little  boys, 
neighbours,  one  fair,  one  dark,  were  playing.  Into  the 
garden  the  windows  of  the  two  neighbours  opened. 
Through  one  window  the  fair-haired  mother  often  looked 
out  and  saw  the  sunshine  and  the  flowers  and  heard  her 
child  laughing.  At  the  other  window  the  dark-haired 
mother  often  stood.  After  this  I  remember  only  my 
impression.  The  fair-haired  child  disappeared.  Its 
young  blood  was  used  as  a  sacrifice  for  the  Passover. 
I  have  the  impression  of  the  mother's  agony — of  the 
garden  still  in  bloom — of  the  sun  shining — but  only  one 
little  child  playing,  the  dark  one. 

It  was  a  well  written  poem.  It  would  touch  any  heart 
with  pity  and  horror. 

When  Miss  Farly  was  through  she  sat  quite  still,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  on  the  page.  Her  face  was  flushed.  After 
a  moment  she  said,  without  lifting  her  eyes,  and  her 
voice  was  quiet  and  strange  with  controlled  emotion, 
"This  might  have  been  a  custom  you  know — Perhaps  it 
is  not  a  custom  of  all  Jews — The  children  would  not  be 
apt  to  know  about  it."  I  was  dumb  with  horror  and  was 
silent.  What  could  I  say?  After  all  the  years  of  her 
knowing  me  so  intimately  what  could  I  say ! 

That  night  Miss  Farly  and  Irene  and  the  two  coloured 
women  and  all  the  children  were  together  and  I  felt 
alone,  a  stranger  in  the  house  that  had  been  a  home  to 
me.  In  that  hour  I  longed  for  my  own  people  whose 
hearts  I  knew. 


268 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

But  after  all  we  were  living  in  the  nineteenth  century. 
And  so  in  a  day  or  two  all  was  as  usual.  I  gave  her  my 
affection  and  she  was  glad  of  it  and  she  seemed  as  fond 
of  me  as  she  was  fond  of  Irene. 

So  that  first  Summer  passed  and  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember came.  I  thought  this  month  the  most  glorious 
of  the  whole  summer  with  its  golden  rods  and  the  trees 
and  the  little  creepers  along  the  stone  walls,  turning 
scarlet,  the  brisk  walks  on  crisp  days,  the  daily  dip  in  the 
brook,  the  sting  of  the  cold  water  and  then  the  feeling 
of  sweet  cleanliness.  And  indoors  in  the  evening  there 
were  the  open  fires,  the  harmonica  music,  the  dances,  the 
songs.  And  when  the  children  were  gone  to  bed  the 
pleasant  chat  with  Miss  Farly  in  the  pleasant  warmth 
of  the  room  scented  with  the  odour  of  sweet  fern  drying 
on  the  hearth. 

Then  a  chilly  day  came.  The  last  batch  of  the  children 
were  with  us.  Miss  Farly  began  to  pack  away  little 
bundles  for  the  winter  and  from  home  a  letter  came  ask- 
ing me  whether  I  knew  that  the  Day  of  Atonement  was 
approaching.  Yes,  I  knew. 

Then  for  a  day  or  two  again  new  life,  like  the  breath 
of  midsummer,  swept  through  the  house.  Word  came 
that  the  doctor,  who  had  just  arrived  from  Europe, 
was  coming  to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  us.  So  I  was 
to  see  the  man  who  so  generously  had  been  supplying  this 
family  of  twenty  people  for  three  months. 

For  a  day  we  cleaned  and  polished  and  then  we  were 
ready  to  receive  him.  He  drove  up  from  New  Haven 
late  one  afternoon.  And  I  saw  from  where  we  had 
gathered  near  the  road  to  meet  him,  a  mature,  well-built, 
handsome  man  such  as  I  had  learned  by  now  to  asso- 
ciate with  the  professional  type — "like  the  doctors  in  the 
hospital."  He  sat  still  for  a  moment  with  the  reins  in 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  269 

his  hand  as  if  he  were  tired  and  the  picture  of  us  suited 
him  and  he  wished  to  hold  it  for  a  moment.  He  smiled 
at  the  whole  group  of  us.  His  face  was  all  kindness  and 
gentleness  and  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  look  of  childlike 
inquiry  which  a  little  later  I  understood  was  due  to  im- 
perfect hearing.  His  gentleness  showed  itself  in  his 
every  act,  the  way  he  handed  the  reins  to  a  boy  who  came 
to  take  the  horse,  in  his  greeting  of  Miss  Farly  and 
Irene,  in  the  courtesy  he  showed  the  little  ones  who  after 
staring  at  him  for  a  minute,  began  to  sidle  up  to  him 
shyly.  Mathilda,  the  cook,  came  to  take  the  ice-cream 
he  had  brought,  which  stood  in  the  tub  packed  with  salt 
and  ice  and  was  very  heavy,  and  he  hastened  to  help  her. 
When  a  little  later  I  came  into  the  kitchen  for  something 
Mathilda  said  to  me,  "Ruth,  does  you  know  a  gentleman 
when  you  sees  one?"  I  was  puzzled  for  a  moment.  Then 
I  understood.  The  doctor  had  helped  her  as  he  would 
have  any  other  woman,  regardless  of  her  colour ! 

He  stayed  with  us  two  days.  During  the  day  he  came 
walking  with  us,  and  in  the  evening,  when  we  hung  up 
our  lanterns  in  the  basement  and  laid  a  good  fire,  he  sat 
on  the  bench  among  the  children  and  attended  with  the 
greatest  interest  to  our  performances,  and  we  all  dis- 
tinguished ourselves.  The  little  Italian  boy  who  per- 
formed acrobatic  stunts  was  more  like  an  eel  than  ever 
and  the  boy  who  played  on  the  harmonica  and  who,  his 
admirers  assured  us,  was  so  musical  that  he  could  play 
on  the  piano  alike  with  his  hands  or  toes,  this  time  per- 
formed on  the  harmonica  with  his  nose.  Irene  led  the 
Virginia  reel  and  Miss  Farly  made  me  sing  my  songs. 
The  doctor  applauded  and  laughed  heartily  and  Miss 
Farly,  who  often  had  to  suppress  the  boys'  shouting  and 
stamping,  whispered  aside  with  a  smile  that  the  doctor 
made  more  noise  than  any  of  the  children. 


270  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

When  he  was  going  away  he  thanked  the  children.  He 
said  with  his  kind  smile  that  he  had  had  a  very  nice 
time;  he  said  it  as  if  he  were  the  guest  and  we  were 
his  hosts. 

And  when  I  went  home  I  knew  that  the  next  summer 
I  would  come  again. 


PART  FIVE 


PART  FIVE 


LVIII 

IT  was  hard  to  get  used  to  the  old  life  again  when  I 
came  home.  It  was  all  stranger  than  ever,  the  home,  my 
people ;  their  ways.  The  children's  faces  looked  lean  and 
a  little  pale  in  spite  of  the  sunburn  from  running  about  in 
the  streets.  Our  couch  now  stood  supported  by  a  grocery 
box;  the  kitchen  looked  like  nothing  more  than  a  black 
hole;  the  meals  were  chance  and  meagre — oatmeal  gruel 
for  dinner.  I  had  good  teeth  and  digestion  and  I  craved 
substantial  food,  meat  and  potatoes.  I  craved  variety. 

Once  when  I  had  first  met  Miss  Wald,  and  was  feeling 
downcast  as  I  was  leaving  the  Settlement  to  go  home, 
she  urged  me  to  tell  her  the  cause.  But  I  did  not  know 
what  to  tell  her,  how  to  put  our  dull  existence  into  words. 
She  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment;  then  she  gave  me 
some  money  and  said  with  great  earnestness,  "Will  you 
do  something  for  me  ?  Will  you  go  and  buy  a  good,  good 
supper,  you  all  ?"  I  had  wondered  then  what  a  meal  had 
to  do  with  one's  outlook  on  life.  I  knew  better  now. 

In  the  shop  where  I  found  work  soon  I  felt  more  and 
more  disgusted  with  conditions.  I  found  the  life  almost 
impossible.  My  sister  and  I  were  working  together  in  a 
large  new  loft.  Half  of  it  was  occupied  by  cloaks  and 
the  other  half  by  a  contractor  of  skirts  and  capes.  Sister 
and  I  were  working  on  the  skirts  and  capes.  There  were 
seven  of  us  at  the  finishers'  little  table,  besides  sister  and 
myself  two  other  girls  and  three  men.  The  room  was 
not  bad  to  work  in,  for  there  was  plenty  of  light  and 

273 


274  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

though  the  table  was  small  those  of  us  who  did  not 
mind  stretching  out  for  the  scissors  and  thread  could 
sit  a  little  distance  away  and  so  have  more  space.  But  it 
was  in  other  ways  that  life  was  made  impossible.  There 
was  one  man  in  the  shop,  the  designer  and  sample  maker 
of  the  cloaks,  to  whom  the  other  men  looked  up.  He 
wore  a  white  collar  and  a  coat  at  work  and  thought  him- 
self clever  and  witty.  Whenever  he  was  not  busy  he 
would  come  and  amuse  himself  by  telling  obscene  stories 
and  jokes.  He  did  not  like  me,  for  when  I  had  first 
come  I  had  managed  to  gather  courage  to  ask  the  boss 
whether  we  girls  could  not  sit  at  a  separate  table.  The 
news  of  this  unusual  request  soon  spread  and  I  began 
to  be  looked  upon  as  one  who  put  on  airs.  "The  tailors 
were  not  good  enough  for  her  to  sit  with."  One  asked 
me:  "Do  you  expect  to  make  the  world  over?"  So  it 
was  quite  understood  that  here  was  a  girl  who  must  be 
downed  and  the  designer,  soon  learning  what  I  was  most 
sensitive  about,  sought  to  do  it  with  his  jokes  and  stories. 
And  whenever  I  saw  him  coming  the  blood  in  my  temples 
would  begin  to  beat  like  a  hammer. 

One  Friday  he  came,  placed  himself  where  he  could  see 
my  face,  and  began  in  his  leisurely  way,  sure  of  being 
listened  to — "I  was  at  a  wedding  last  night."  There  was 
a  burst  of  laughter.  The  men  foresaw  what  was  com- 
ing. And  he,  encouraged  by  the  effect  he  was  making, 
continued  after  a  moment  of  significant  silence.  He 
talked  as  he  had  never  talked  before.  He  talked  of  the 
most  intimate  relations  of  married  people  in  a  way  that 
made  even  the  men  exclaim  and  curse  him  while  they 
laughed.  We  girls  as  usual  sat  with  our  heads  hanging, 
and  I  was  aware  that  sister's  face  almost  touched  the 
work  in  her  lap.  His  eyes  were  on  my  face  and  they 
were  hurting  me.  I  was  thinking  that  I  could  not  even 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  275 

hide  by  merely  pretending  not  to  hear  as  the  others  did. 
Suddenly  a  feeling  of  rage  shook  me.  "Why  did  we 
pretend?  Did  pretending  cleanse  our  minds  from  the 
filth  thrown  into  them?"  Then  I  felt  that  if  I  could  only 
stand  up,  if  I  could  only  stop  pretending  at  this  moment! 
I  could  never  quite  be  a  part  of  the  filth  I  had  absorbed. 
The  blood  beat  so  in  my  head  that  I  was  half  blinded  at 
the  thought  of  showing  myself  so  openly.  Then  I  rose, 
and  scarcely  knowing  what  I  did,  I  flung  the  cape  from 
me;  its  purple  silk  lining  caught  on  a  nail,  in  the  wall 
opposite,  and  hung  there — and  I  cried  to  them  half 
sobbing,  "You  have  made  life  bitter  for  me.  I  pray  God 
that  rather  than  that  I  should  have  to  go  into  a  tailor 
shop  again  I  may  meet  my  death  on  my  way  home."  All 
this  seemed  to  have  taken  a  long,  long  time  and  I  gradu- 
ally realised  that  it  was  very  still  in  our  corner  of  the  shop 
and  that  now  it  was  the  men  who  sat  with  their  heads 
hung  and  sister  was  standing  close  to  me.  I  took  my 
coat,  gave  her  her  little  shawl,  and  we  went  out.  In  the 
half -dark  hall  her  face  as  she  turned  it  up  to  me  was 
pale  and  her  lips  trembled.  "You  go  home,"  she  said. 
"But  I  am  not  going.  It  is  not  as  hard  for  me  because 
the  men  think  I  am  too  young  to  understand."  And  I 
could  not  make  her  go  with  me.  She  would  not  lose  the 
half  day,  she  would  not  lose  the  place.  And  she  went 
back  into  the  shop  and  I  went  down  into  the  street. 

I  walked  away  from  the  building  and  turned  and 
looked  at  it.  I  was  leaving  the  shop!  All  sweatshops! 
When  the  idea  had  come  to  me  I  could  not  have  told  but 
the  thought  of  going  to  look  for  a  job  in  another  sweat- 
shop was  somehow  out  of  the  question. 

I  sauntered  along  through  the  street.  What  now? 
Housework  was  the  only  thing  left  to  me.  I  shrank 
from  it.  My  experience  had  showed  me  what  my  life 


276  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

might  mean  as  a  servant,  a  drudge  in  some  one's  dark 
kitchen,  sleeping  on  chairs,  eating  at  the  washtub  (since 
the  Corloves  I  had  learned  that  eating  at  the  washtub 
was  the  general  rule),  being  looked  down  upon  as  an 
inferior  for  whom  anything  was  good  enough.  A  year 
or  two  of  this  and  I  would  be  coarser  and  cruder,  the  life 
would  grow  upon  me,  I  would  lose  all  sensitiveness,  I 
would  cease  to  care. 

Suddenly  I  wondered  why  I  should  not  go  and  talk 
to  Miss  Wald  about  the  shop.  I  had  confessed  to  her 
about  so  many  other  difficulties,  our  own  and  those  of 
our  neighbours,  and  she  had  always  helped  us  out. 
Perhaps  she  could  help  here  too.  We  had  come  to  feel 
that  there  was  nothing  she  could  not  do.  But  the  next 
moment  I  thought  with  shame  of  letting  Miss  Wald  know 
to  what  I  had  been  listening  in  the  shop,  of  letting  her 
find  out  what  my  mind  had  been  fed  on.  "But  my  little 
sister  is  sitting  there  and  listening  and  I  am  ashamed  to 
talk  to  Miss  Wald — another  woman !" 

During  the  next  night  and  day  I  fought  it  out  with 
myself.  Beside  the  sense  of  shame  there  was  the  ob- 
stacle of  not  being  able  to  express  myself  well  enough 
in  English.  It  was  so  easy  to  be  misunderstood  and  mis- 
construed. People,  busy  people,  listened  to  your  stut- 
tering and  blundering,  and  finally  brushed  you  aside. 
And  this  would  be  particularly  hard  to  tell.  However, 
I  was  sure  of  one  thing,  that  Miss  Wald  would  listen  to 
me  patiently  and  try  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  what  I  was 
saying.  But  would  she  think  it  possible?  Would  she  be- 
lieve me  ?  Or  perhaps  this  thing  that  appears  so  horrible 
to  me  is  not  so  horrible  after  all. 

Sunday  morning  at  ten  o'clock  I  started  for  the  Set- 
tlement Miss  Wald  was  not  yet  down,  she  had  worked 
hard  the  day  before  and  had  been  up  late;  would  I  go 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  277 

up  to  her  room?  I  found  her  mother  with  her  and  an- 
other woman.  Miss  Wald  moved  a  chair  for  me  near 
to  her  couch  and  introduced  me.  At  the  sight  of  the 
strangers  my  mind  became  altogether  confused  and  I 
heard  their  voices  as  though  in  a  dream.  I  heard  her 

mother  ask:      "Is   Miss   French?"      Miss   Wald 

laughed.  "Why,  because  she  is  blonde?"  So  the  French 
are  dark,  I  thought.  My  mind  fastened  on  this  as  though 
it  were  very  important  and  I  kept  thinking,  "So  the 
French  are  dark!"  Then  I  thought  that  the  strangers 
must  be  wondering  why  I  was  there.  The  thought  also 
came  that  I  could  still  go  without  saying  anything  about 
the  shop.  But  suddenly  I  leaned  over  and  whispered  to 
Miss  Wald  that  I  must  see  her  alone.  She  glanced  at  me 
quickly,  laid  her  hand  on  mine  in  my  lap  and  pressed 
it  affectionately  as  she  talked  to  her  visitors. 

At  last  they  were  gone.  They  seemed  to  have  gone 
quite  suddenly.  What  happened  after  that  I  could  never 
remember  except  a  look  of  horror  in  Miss  Wald's  face 
and  the  words,  "Why,  Ruth !  they  always  told  me — they 
assured  me  that — Oh,  that  place  is  not  fit  to  work  in." 


278  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LIX 

MONDAY  morning  at  eight  o'clock  I  went  to  the  Nurses' 
Settlement.  As  the  outcome  of  my  confession  to  Miss 
Wald,  I  was  to  learn  how  to  make  shirtwaists  in  their 
little  shop. 

And  now  I  was  to  know  Miss  Ann  O'There,  the 
woman  who  made  a  great  difference  in  my  life.  The 
shop  was  on  the  top  floor  in  the  East  Broadway  House. 
To  get  to  it  one  had  to  pass  a  gas-lit  anteroom.  I 
climbed  the  stairs  and  stopped  before  this  room.  My 
heart  beat  violently.  I  was  entering  on  a  new  life.  What 
was  there  for  me  now?  As  I  opened  the  door  I  was 
surprised,  then  delighted.  Before  a  large  table  a  woman 
stood,  cutting.  I  had  already  met  her  and  she  had  made 
a  deep  impression  on  me,  and  now  when  I  saw  her  I 
knew  at  once  that  she  was  my  "boss." 

A  short  time  before  this  she  had  come  to  cut  out  gym 
suits  for  the  gym  class  to  which  I  belonged,  and  show  us 
girls  how  to  make  them.  She  had  noticed  me  because  I 
could  baste  faster  than  any  other  girl.  So  I  basted  still 
faster  and  observed  her.  I  saw  that  her  ways  were  so 
gentle  and  quiet  and  she  bent  over  each  girl  as  if  she 
had  known  her  a  long  time.  The  suits  were  made  in  two 
or  three  Friday  nights,  and  the  last  night  she  came  down 
stairs  with  a  group  of  us  girls,  and  as  she  was  bidding  us 
good-night  I  watched  her  with  regret.  Then  I  saw  her 
glance  at  me  and  I  was  sure  she  would  come  and  talk 
to  me.  She  did. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  she  asked.  When  I  told  her  she 
slipped  her  arm  through  mine  and  walked  with  me  a 
little  ways. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  279 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  she  belonged  to  a  family 
that  were  rich  and  accomplished. 

"How  then  could  she  be  so  splendid?" 

She  learned  how  to  sew,  perhaps,  that  she  might  be 
able  to  teach  girls.  Then  I  learned  from  some  one  in 
the  Settlement  that  she  was  a  working  woman,  of  work- 
ing people,  and  a  champion  of  labour. 

This  morning  she  greeted  me  in  her  quiet  gentle  way. 
Then  she  opened  the  door  and  we  went  into  a  little 
room  where  three  girls  were  bending  over  sewing  ma- 
chines. 

"This  is  Miss ,"  she  said,  and  I  was  amazed.  This 

was  like  coming  to  a  sociable  and  not  a  shop  in  which  to 
work. 

She  gave  me  a  seat  and  showed  me  how  to  make 
buttonholes  in  a  scrap  of  blue  gingham. 

Many  times  that  day  she  came  to  look  at  my  button- 
holes. Her  long  slim  hands  touched  mine  tenderly,  her 
eyes  were  saying  kind  things.  I  could  scarcely  believe 
that  I  was  not  dreaming.  Nevertheless  I  felt  discour- 
aged. For  years  I  had  been  working  for  money  and  now 
I  was  sewing  on  rags! 

The  little  shop  turned  out  to  be  more  and  more  like 
a  shop  in  a  dream.  I  was  reading  at  the  time  a  book 
translated  from  the  Russian  called,  "What  Is  to  Be  Done, 
or  The  Vital  Question,"  by  Cherneshefsky.  In  this  book 
there  was  an  ideal  sewing  shop  and  I  felt  as  if  our  little 
shop  too  was  out  of  a  story. 

We  all  sat  in  a  group  in  the  centre  of  the  little  attic 
room  where  the  best  light  fell.  On  my  right  there  was 
a  shelf  with  some  materials,  on  the  left  was  the  door 
and  behind  it  a  little  gas  stove  which  we  used  at  lunch 
time. 

The  older  of  the  three  girls  we  consulted  in  regard  to 


28o  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

the  work  when  Miss  O'There  was  not  in.  Then  there 
was  Margaret,  who  was  fifteen.  She  was  tall  and  slim 
and  pretty  and  her  grey  eyes  were  bright  with  fun  and 
laughter.  She  had  never  yet  worked  anywhere.  Fan 
was  a  Jewish-American  girl  of  sixteen.  She  had  come 
from  the  sweatshop,  her  life  at  home  was  hard,  and  she 
worked  as  if  she  had  never  had  time  to  learn  anything 
right.  She  read  greedily,  even  in  the  street  as  she  walked 
to  and  from  work,  and  she  knew  how  to  drive  a  bar- 
gain. Her  people  were  in  dire  poverty.  Perhaps  it 
was  this  that  taught  her  the  art.  At  any  rate  it  would 
take  a  clever  pushcart  pedlar  to  get  the  best  of  Fan. 

After  a  few  days  a  machine  came  for  me  and  I  was 
taught  how  to  make  shirt  waists.  And  now  while  I  was 
learning  how  to  make  a  shirt  waist  I  was  also  learning 
something  of  the  meaning  of  things  or  many  things  that 
had  seemed  without  meaning.  Miss  O'There  took  my 
measure  and  said  I  was  to  be  her  shirt  waist  model.  The 
fitting  room  was  a  few  steps  below,  where  everything 
was  covered  with  blue  denim  and  we  called  it  the  "little 
blue  room."  And  in  this  room,  with  her  mouth  full  of 
pins  and  while  pinning  me  into  a  shirt  waist,  she  would 
talk  to  me.  With  a  few  words  at  a  time  she  slowly 
opened  my  mind  to  one  thing  after  another.  And  I, 
when  I  found  that  I  could  ask  questions,  that  it  was 
neither  improper  nor  would  I  be  thought  a  fool,  became 
as  greedy  as  little  Fan  in  her  reading.  There  were  so 
many  things  that  I  wanted  to  know.  I  wanted  to  know 
about  our  race,  about  myself,  about  the  Irish  on  Cherry 
Street,  about  the  shop.  The  questions  went  tumbling  all 
over  each  other  in  my  mind  and  in  my  speech.  But  she 
interpreted  each  one.  I  did  not  need  to  worry  about  my 
English.  She  looked  at  me,  and  she  seemed  to  under- 
stand me  better  than  I  understood  myself.  And  I  too 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  281 

soon  learned  to  understand  her.  I  became  sensitive  to 
her  every  motion  and  expression. 

It  appeared  that  there  was  a  reason  for  everything. 
Things  were  not  thrown  into  the  world  in  a  haphazard 
way.  She  told  me  something  of  the  history  of  the  Irish 
people,  of  their  joys,  of  their  sorrows,  of  their  humour, 
of  their  bitter  struggle  to  free  themselves.  And  grad- 
ually I  lost  my  fear  of  the  Irish  on  Cherry  Street.  She 
explained  my  own  race  to  me.  She  explained  the  shop. 
What  a  revelation !  The  men's  conduct  in  the  shop  could 
be  explained!  "Just  look,"  she  would  say,  "what  are 
their  lives?  You  know,  sweating  from  early  to  late, 
some  haven't  even  their  families  here.  Talking?  It  is 
perhaps  the  only  joy  within  their  reach.  I  suppose  it 
is  a  kind  of  joy,  and  when  you  work  like  an  animal  you 
live  like  an  animal."  So  I  began  to  see  tailors  in  a 
different  light.  The  new  world  she  opened  to  me  did 
not  make  me  sad.  On  the  contrary,  it  had  been  far 
more  sad  to  see  things  happen  and  not  to  understand. 

All  this  time  the  life  of  all  of  us  together  in  the  shop 
was  continuing  as  in  a  dream.  It  was  like  a  dream  to 
be  working  only  from  eight  o'clock  until  five  with  an 
hour  for  lunch.  For  lunch  one  of  us  three  young  girls 
would  get  off  a  little  earlier  and  make  cocoa  for  all.  We 
each  paid  ten  cents  a  week  toward  it  and  two  cents  a 
day  to  Fan  for  the  fruit  which  she  bought.  And  it  was 
like  a  dream  to  sit  down  to  a  prettily  set  table  with  blue 
dishes,  and  bright  silver,  which  Miss  Wald  placed  for  our 
use.  I  did  not  at  once  fit  in  with  this  new  life.  I  would 
sit  a  little  distance  away  from  the  table  and  brood.  I 
longed  to  be  with  them,  but  something  seemed  to  hold  me 
back.  At  five  o'clock  when  we  stopped  work  one  of  us 
three  younger  girls  had  to  sweep  up.  When  my  turn 
came  I  told  her  with  tears  that  I  did  not  want  to 


282 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

sweep.  Sweeping  was  housework  and  housework  out- 
side of  your  own  home  was  degrading.  You  were  looked 
down  upon,  you  were  a  servant.  And  so  she  would  talk 
to  me  and  would  reason  with  me  as  my  mother  had  done 
when  I  was  a  child.  "No  work  was  high  or  low,"  she 
would  explain  to  me ;  "all  work  is  honourable  if  honestly 
done." 

Then  I  developed  a  feeling  of  deep  jealousy.  I  could 
not  bear  the  thought  that  all  the  other  girls  were  as  much 
to  her  as  I  was.  Having  found  her  I  wanted  to  keep 
her  all  to  myself.  But  soon  she  drew  me  into  the  group. 

On  Saturday  Fan  and  I  did  not  work  at  all  because 
it  was  our  Sabbath.  Now  I  would  have  been  willing  to 
work  for  my  religious  scruples  were  gone.  But  my 
parents  would  on  no  conditions  consent  to  it  so  I  was 
off  both  days  and  Fan  too,  but  the  rest  worked  the  half 
day.  And  after  it,  on  many  mild  afternoons,  we  all  went 
to  the  park.  Always  it  was  wonderful  to  me  to  hear 
Miss  O'There  explain  things.  There  was  always  some- 
thing new  in  the  way  she  saw  them.  Always  there  was 
a  touch  of  seriousness  under  everything.  She  treated  us 
all  as  if  we  were  her  little  sisters,  and  taught  and  guided 
us.  We  led  a  sweet  life. 

We  received  very  little  money,  a  dollar,  a  dollar  and 
a  half,  two  dollars  a  week.  At  this  I  wondered  for  I 
did  not  know  what  this  little  shop  meant,  that  it  was 
established  to  teach  me  and  the  others  a  trade,  and  that 
what  little  money  we  did  receive  was  merely  meant  to 
encourage  us,  or  help  our  families.  I  did  not  know. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  known.  I 
might  have  tried  harder  for  its  success.  Having  been 
trained  to  work  under  the  lash  of  a  whip,  it  is  a  question 
whether  I  was  fit  to  be  left  entirely  to  my  honour.  What 
was  true  of  me  was  I  think  true  of  the  other  girls  too. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  283 

At  any  rate,  one  day  when  I  had  worked  at  the  shop 
about  a  year,  Miss  Wald  and  Miss  O'There  were  locked 
up  all  afternoon  in  the  little  blue  fitting  room.  At  five 
o'clock  we  learned  that  the  shop  could  not  pay  for  itself. 
We  all  wept  at  the  news.  And  soon  we  were  scattered 
all  over  the  city,  placed  at  work  for  which  we  were  best 
fitted,  or  wherever  there  happened  to  be  an  opening.  I 
had  kept  with  some  neatness  the  materials  on  the  shelf 
in  our  little  shop,  so  I  was  placed  as  a  stock  keeper  in  a 
Fifth  Avenue  dressmaking  establishment.  I  had  great 
difficulty  to  keep  my  job  with  the  few  words  of  English 
I  knew  how  to  read  and  write.  But  the  work  fascinated 
me  because  I  had  to  use  a  pencil  instead  of  a  needle. 
Using  a  pencil  meant  "education" !  So  I  begged  Madame 
to  be  patient  with  me.  Here  I  learned  some  new  words 
and  a  little  spelling  while  labelling  the  stock. 

We  worked  regular  hours.  But  often  the  girls  had  to 
stay  overtime,  for  which  they  received  twenty-five  cents 
supper  money.  We  worked  from  eight  until  seven.  We 
entered  the  brownstone  building  through  the  basement, 
felt  about  in  a  pitch-dark  closet  where  we  hung  our 
clothes,  and  stood  about  in  the  dark  hall  adjoining  the 
kitchen  and  peeped  in  curiously  at  Madame's  coloured 
domestic  help  hustling  about,  until  we  heard  the  bell  up- 
stairs tinkle  for  us. 

The  dressmakers  were  three  sisters.  The  oldest  was 
a  large  woman  with  grey  hair,  stern  face,  and  an  uneasy 
self-conscious  look  in  her  eyes.  She  had  charge  of  the 
waist  lining.  She  kept  her  girls  about  her  in  a  group 
and  her  face  never  relaxed  for  a  moment  to  any  of  them. 
The  youngest  had  charge  of  the  waists.  She  was  small 
and  pretty  and  I  never  heard  her  speak  harshly  to  a  girl. 
The  middle  sister  was  Madame  K.  She  was  good  looking 
and  she  had  a  tall,  slender,  pretty  form.  When  she  came 


284  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

into  the  room  all  the  heads  bent  lower  over  their  work. 
It  was  then  that  the  uneasy  self-conscious  look  came  into 
the  grey  sister's  eyes.  Yet  I  did  not  think  Madame  K. 
unkind.  She  was  the  only  one  who,  it  seemed  to  me, 
understood  how  really  difficult  for  me  was  the  work  I 
was  doing.  While  she  was  often  impatient  and  spoke 
harshly  she  was  also  sometimes  kind.  After  I  had  worked 
a  couple  of  weeks  I  asked  her  whether  I  was  doing  any 
better ;  I  was  anxious  that  she  should  not  be  the  loser  by 
having  kept  me.  "Why,  yes,"  she  said  in  her  brisk  man- 
ner. Then  she  looked  at  me  and  her  busy  fingers,  which 
were  draping  a  piece  of  silk,  stopped  for  a  moment. 
Madame  K.  rarely  took  time  to  look  at  any  one.  "Why," 
she  said,  "you  are  a  queer  little  thing!"  She  said  it  as 
if  she  were  seeing  me  for  the  first  time. 

Her  admitting  that  I  was  doing  better  meant  much 
to  me.  It  helped  me  keep  the  job  as  long  as  I  did,  for 
I  had  to  put  up  with  hardship  and  a  great  deal  of  hu- 
miliation. I  missed  the  congenial  spirit  of  our  little 
Settlement  shop,  all  for  one  and  one  for  all.  Here  it  was 
more  as  in  the  sweatshop,  each  one  for  himself.  I  had 
not  made  friends  with  any  of  the  girls.  All  but  one  of 
them  were  Americans.  When  I  made  blunders  they 
could  only  stare  at  me,  and  I  thought  them  proud  and 
unkind.  This  one  girl  was  Irish  and  when  I  had  learned 
to  understand  her  and  her  brogue  I  liked  her.  She 
worked  on  the  skirts  and  she  often  came  into  the  stock 
room  to  baste  on  a  large  table  that  stood  there.  She  kept 
her  book  of  measurements  open  before  her.  I  glanced  at 
it  curiously  one  day.  "Do  you  know  how  to  write  these  ?" 
She  caught  me  up. 

"Not  these  things,"  I  pointed  to  the  fractions. 

"Well,  you  better  learn,"  she  said.   "One  of  these  days 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  285 

Madame  will  call  you  into  the  fitting  room  to  write  the 
measurements,  and  if  you  don't  know  how " 

That  day  I  spent  the  half  hour  lunch  period  writing 
fractions.  It  was  in  this  way  that  I  liked  best  to  learn 
because  I  could  see  the  use  for  the  thing  I  was  learning. 

Of  the  greatest  interest  to  me  here  perhaps  were  the 
garments.  From  these  I  tried  to  get  an  idea  of  the 
wealth  in  the  world  and  the  lives  of  the  wealthy  people. 
As  light  and  as  flimsy  as  some  of  these  garments  were, 
their  expensiveness  was  evident  and  suggested  to  my 
imagination  heaps  of  gold  coins.  Everything  seemed  an 
occasion  for  the  wealthy  and  there  was  a  garment  for 
each  occasion,  a  dinner  gown,  a  tea  gown,  a  morning 
gown,  an  afternoon  gown,  an  evening  gown,  an  opera 
gown,  a  ball  gown,  a  street  gown.  Some  of  the  cus- 
tomers fitted  two  and  three  at  a  time.  When  did  they 
wear  them  all?  What  else  did  they  do  beside  attending 
balls  and  dinners? 

At  fitting  time  it  was  my  part  to  take  the  garment 
from  the  girls  and  carry  it  into  the  fitting  room  to  Ma- 
dame K.  So  I  soon  began  to  know  many  of  the  cus- 
tomers by  sight.  Their  looks  and  bearing  did  not  sug- 
gest simple  homes.  I  pictured  mansions  and  hosts  of 
servants.  My  reading  helped  me  in  the  picture  making. 

The  stock  room  was  a  little  dark  room  that  served 
also  as  a  passage  between  the  work  room  and  the  fitting 
rooms.  A  heavy  portiere  hung  at  one  door,  hiding  the 
work  room  from  the  fitting  room.  Looking  into  these 
two  different  rooms  was  like  looking  into  two  different 
worlds.  In  one,  the  work  room,  the  girls  sat  with  their 
heads  bent,  muscles  tense,  faces  dull  or  absorbed,  stitch- 
ing silently.  Here  it  was  always  silent,  for  either  one 
of  the  sisters  was  always  there,  or  both.  The  faces  and 
the  clothes  of  the  girls  suggested  their  life,  the  life  that 


286  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

I  knew.  In  the  other  room,  through  the  portiere,  many 
hours  of  the  day  one  woman  or  another  would  be  stand- 
ing before  the  long  mirrors  gazing  at  herself.  Beside 
her  Madame  K.  kneeled  with  the  long  train  of  her  black 
silk  dress  spread  behind  her  on  the  green  carpet.  Here 
there  was  always  a  light  babbling  which  I  could  not  help 
overhearing.  There  were  often  little  bursts  of  con- 
fidences. "I  know  I  looked  well  last  night,  because  the 
women  were  asking  me  whether  I  was  not  growing  fat." 
Usually  it  was  on  clothes.  "Yes,  I  like  my  hat  and  it  was 
a  bargain  this  time.  It  was  only  sixty- four  dollars " 

"Sixty- four  dollars! — Father  would  have  to  work  six 
weeks  for  sixty  dollars.  I  received  four  dollars  a  week." 
It  came  quite  natural  to  figure  it  so.  But  I  felt  no  envy 
and  no  resentment 

I  worked  here  until  Christmas  or  rather  over  Christ- 
mas. Christmas  Eve  two  of  the  girls  had  to  stay  over 
time  to  finish  a  gown.  That  night  I  sat  in  the  little 
darkened  stock  room  and  waited  to  pack  it;  downstairs 
I  knew  the  coloured  man  was  waiting  to  deliver  it.  From 
where  I  sat  I  could  see  the  whole  workroom,  dark  except 
for  the  one  corner  where  the  two  girls  sat  bending  over 
the  white  satin  gown  between  them.  One  of  the  girls  was 
weeping.  I  had  often  thought  her  proud,  but  now  she  did 
not  look  a  bit  proud,  she  looked  so  human  and  loveable. 
Tears  were  running  down  her  little  straight  nose.  When- 
ever the  tears  came  she  would  turn  away  a  little  that 
they  might  not  fall  on  the  small  pink  roses  she  was  stitch- 
ing on  to  the  hem.  She  reminded  me  of  the  many  times 
I  had  been  felling  sleeve  lining  until  late  at  night  after 
the  other  workers  were  gone. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  287 


LX 

AND  now  I  went  to  the  factory  to  make  use  of  the 
trade  I  learned  in  the  Settlement  shop.  Miss  O'There 
found  me  a  place.  I  learned  that  to  find  a  job  it  was  not 
necessary  to  go  from  factory  to  factory.  Instead  you 
read  the  advertisements  in  the  newspapers.  And  strange 
enough,  the  printed  names  and  addresses  turned  out  to 
be  of  "real  people."  Miss  O'There,  who  came  with  me, 
inquired  for  me.  Yes,  shirt  waist  makers  were  wanted, 
and  I  was  "taken  on." 

I  followed  a  forewoman  through  long  aisles  of  sew- 
ing machines  till  she  placed  me  at  a  machine  in  the  middle 
of  the  loft  and  showed  me  how  to  work  the  treadle.  It 
was  run  by  steam  power.  I  pressed  my  foot,  there  was 
a  terrific  noise,  and  I  did  not  hear  the  forewoman  go. 
Then  something  made  me  turn  my  head  and  I  looked  up 
and  found  her  standing  at  my  machine.  So  it  was  all 
day. 

She  brought  me  a  bundle  of  work  and  told  me  to 
make  up  a  sample  waist. 

I  worked  very  carefully.  I  measured  the  centrepiece 
with  a  tape  measure  I  brought.  I  made  dainty  French 
seams  and  stitched  with  a  small  round  stitch.  I  felt 
confident.  In  our  little  Settlement  shop  I  had  worked 
on  silks,  French  flannels  and  fine  chambray.  This  was 
ordinary  material. 

Shortly  before  noon  I  finished  the  waist.  I  was  not 
mistaken.  The  forewoman  looked  pleased  as  she  ex- 
amined it.  She  turned  to  me.  "This  is  beautiful!"  she 
said.  "But,  my  dear  girl,  working  like  this  you  won't 
earn  your  salt.  Do  you  know  what  these  waists  pay?" 


288  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

I  shook  my  head.  "A  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  dozen."  I 
was  dumb  with  surprise.  She  looked  at  me  a  moment. 
"What  you  need,"  she  said,  "is  speed!  I'll  show  you 
how  to  work !"  I  rose  and  she  sat  down  at  the  machine. 
She  lengthened  the  stitch  to  three  times  the  size,  her 
back  bent  over,  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  machine,  her 
hands  flew,  and  the  machine  whirred.  She  seemed  to 
become  one  with  it.  I  remembered  this  picture  later. 
It  was  the  typical  picture  of  a  sewing  machine  operator. 

I  worked  a  few  days,  then  I  was  sent  away.  I  was  not 
worth  the  machine  and  space  I  occupied.  In  my  place 
they  could  have  a  woman  turning  out  a  dozen  and  a  half 
waists  a  day.  So  now  I  went  from  factory  to  factory 
trying  to  acquire  speed.  I  worked  a  day  here,  a  few  days 
there,  till  they  found  me  out.  It  is  as  hard  to  become  a 
botcher  as  a  good  worker  and  I  was  often  discouraged 
and  despondent.  The  thought,  "What  is  it  all  about — 
what  is  it  for?"  came  rather  often.  To  turn  out  a  good 
piece  of  work  had  been  a  satisfaction.  Its  place  now 
was  taken  by :  "How  many  more  waists  can  I  do  to-day 
than  yesterday?"  But  how  long  can  this  kind  of  thing 
satisfy  one? 

At  last  I  came  to  the  immense  shirt  waist  factory 
of  F.  Brothers.  Here  I  had  applied  as  a  tucker  in  the 
hope  that  by  specialising  I  would  do  better.  The  fore- 
woman soon  noticed,  no  doubt,  that  I  was  not  a  tucker 
and  needing  "a  hand"  on  one  of  her  special  machines, 
she  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  try  it  and  told  me  its 
merits.  A  "hand"  who  could  earn  a  good  day's  wages 
would  have  hesitated  to  accept.  But  what  had  I  to  lose? 
I  had  not  yet  earned  three  dollars  a  week  as  a  shirt  waist 
maker.  If  I  had  not  had  my  people  and  my  home,  where 
would  I  have  been  now?  And  besides,  I  was  always 
eager  for  new  experiences.  It  turned  out  to  be  an  eight 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  289 

needle  tucking  machine.  I  was  at  once  delighted  and 
fascinated  by  it.  A  machine  that  could  make  eight 
tucks  in  almost  the  time  that  it  took  to  make  one !  The 
strain  on  my  eyes  was  terrific.  I  had  to  watch  eight 
needles  instead  of  one,  but  then,  I  told  myself,  I  would 
earn  several  times  more  than  I  would  have  otherwise! 
"What  a  wonderful  inventor!  What  a  wonderful  ma- 
chine !"  I  soon  learned,  however,  that  I  was  paid  no  more 
than  if  I  were  making  one  tuck ! 

But  the  machine  continued  to  interest  me,  and  I  was 
doing  here  better  than  I  had  yet  done.  So  when  there 
was  an  opening  I  brought  my  sister  and  settled  myself 
down  to  stay.  Sister  was  put  to  make  shirt  waists  at 
the  extreme  end  of  the  block  long  loft  and  I  in  a  group 
of  several  other  eight  and  five  needle  tuckers,  stood  in  the 
middle  of  it.  And  now  all  day  long  I  sat  feeding  white 
lawn  and  eight  pin  tucks  came  out.  All  day  hundreds  of 
yards  of  lawn  slipped  over  my  table  and  fell  into  a  large 
basket.  At  first  I  dared  not  lift  my  eyes  from  the 
needles.  In  the  evening  my  eyes  smarted  and  my  back 
ached.  But  when  I  learned  to  understand  my  machine  I 
did  not  have  to  watch  so  closely.  I  could  tell  by  the 
sound  it  made  when  a  needle  grew  dull,  when  a  thread 
broke,  when  a  stitch  slipped.  Every  different  trouble 
made  its  own  different  sound.  And  as  I  watched  my  ma- 
chine from  day.  to  day  it  seemed  to  me  like  a  human  being. 
When  I  did  not  take  care  of  it,  oil  it,  clean  it,  it  did  not 
work  properly.  I  began  to  love  my  machine  and  in  my 
mind  I  called  it  my  partner  because  it  helped  me  to  earn 
my  six  dollars. 

We  were  piece  workers.  Some  of  the  girls  who  could 
work  without  lifting  their  eyes  earned  more  than  six 
dollars.  That  was  how  my  sister  worked.  But  I  could 
not  do  that !  Indeed,  I  did  not  want  to.  I  did  not  want 


290  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

to  become  like  my  machine.  So  while  I  fed  it  the  lawn 
I  listened,  and  looked  about  a  little  and  thought  over 
what  I  saw.  From  where  I  sat  I  could  see  the  whole 
floor  from  end  to  end.  I  saw  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  girls  bending  over  sewing  machines.  The  floor  vi- 
brated, beat  steadily  like  a  pulse  with  the  steam  power. 
The  air  was  filled  with  the  whirr.  I  had  to  keep  my  head 
low  to  distinguish  the  noise  of  my  own  machine  and  we 
girls  shouted  and  watched  each  other's  lips  when  we 
talked.  But  we  did  not  talk  much!  Right  in  front  of 
me  at  a  big  table  stood  a  large  stout  woman  with  a  red 
handsome  face.  She  was  the  head  forewoman.  All 
day  long  she  stood  or  sat  at  the  table  draughting  pat- 
terns, drinking  beer  with  her  head  bent  under  the  table, 
and  watching  us.  There  were  also  assistant  forewomen, 
and  foremen  and  assistant  foremen,  and  superintendents 
and  assistant  superintendents.  They  were  all  watching 
us.  The  "bosses"  we  only  saw  once  a  day  pass  through 
the  aisles.  One  was  round  shouldered  with  a  little  black 
beard  and  a  cross  eye.  He  walked  through  quickly  with 
his  head  bent  and  a  preoccupied  look  on  his  face.  The 
other  boss  was  straight  and  tall  and  he  wore  a  grey 
French  beard.  He  walked  leisurely  with  his  head  in  the 
air  and  looked  about. 

One  day  we  heard  that  one  of  our  bosses  had  gone  to 
Europe.  When  after  some  months  he  returned  to  the 
factory  there  was  a  celebration.  The  steam  power  was 
turned  off  and  the  assistant  forewomen  announced  that 
downstairs  in  the  salesrooms  there  was  cake  and  wine 
and  music.  But  few  besides  the  forewomen  went  down. 
We  remained  sitting  at  our  machines  talking  to  each 
other.  Our  own  voices  sounded  strange  to  us  in  the  quiet 
and  we  felt  self-conscious. 

Soon  the  forewomen  returned  and  each  one  of  us 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  291 

received  a  sealed  little  envelope  with  her  number  on  it. 
We  were  all  called  here  by  the  numbers  of  our  machines. 
My  machine  and  I  were  93. 

In  the  little  envelope  each  one  of  us  three  hundred 
employes  found  a  little  trinket  in  Roman  gold. 

When  the  head  forewoman  returned  her  face  was 
redder  than  usual  and  beaming  with  joy.  She  had  re- 
ceived a  curiously  made  ivory  cross.  She  called  us  to 
her  table  and  showed  it  to  us.  She  raised  her  hand  for 
attention  and  we  all  pressed  to  the  table.  She  cried,  "It 
is  no  wonder  they  are  so  prosperous.  They  are  so  good 
to  us !  God  is  blessing  them !"  Some  of  the  girls  looked 
at  her  in  bewilderment  and  listened  doubtfully.  The  year 
before,  two  weeks  after  the  gifts  had  been  received,  the 
prices  had  been  cut,  a  quarter  of  a  cent  on  a  yard  of 
hemstitching,  five  cents  on  a  hundred  yards  of  tucking, 
twenty-five  cents  on  a  dozen  waists. 


292 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


I  WAS  eighteen  when  I  met  L.  V.  I  had  come  home 
from  work,  had  supper,  and  sat  on  the  stoop  looking  into 
the  street  when  suddenly  a  small  dog  jumped  into  my 
lap.  I  stood  up  so  quickly  that  he  fell  like  a  bundle  at  my 
feet.  Then  I  saw  that  he  was  on  a  chain  and  tugging  at 
the  end  of  it  was  a  small,  dark  young  man.  He  slapped 
the  little  dog.  "I  am  so  sorry!"  he  said.  I  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  not  serious.  I  said  I  was  all  right.  I  brushed 
my  skirt  and  sat  down  again,  and  he  raised  his  hat  and 
led  the  little  dog  away. 

The  little  animal  I  knew  belonged  to  our  neighbour 
in  the  front,  a  middle-aged,  childless  woman  who  repaired 
wigs  for  her  living.  "Who  was  the  young  man?"  None 
of  our  men  raised  their  hats  like  that  and  from  the  few 
words  of  English  he  had  spoken  I  understood  that  he  was 
not  only  an  American  but  a  person  of  education. 

He  came  back  in  a  few  minutes  and  stopped  near  the 
stoop  and  I  knew  that  he  would  talk  to  me  and  I  sat 
there.  The  dog  soon  made  it  possible.  He  kept  pulling 
at  the  chain  toward  me.  I  had  sometimes  stopped  to  pat 
him.  "Does  he  know  you?"  the  young  man  asked.  I 
said,  "Yes."  So  we  began  to  talk.  He  told  me  that 
he  had  come  from  Chicago  to  visit  his  aunt. 

The  next  evening  when  I  came  out  on  the  stoop  he  too 
soon  came  and  again  I  let  him  talk  to  me.  I  had  never 
before  spoken  to  a  young  man  to  whom  I  had  not  been 
introduced.  Yet  this  seemed  all  right  and  I  spoke  to  him 
as  if  I  were  in  my  own  house.  To  the  house  I  did  not  ask 
him.  It  was  nothing  unusual  to  receive  "company"  on 
the  street.  In  fact  it  was  often  the  only  place.  It  was 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  293 

hard  to  entertain  guests  in  the  one  room.  For  the  little 
dark  bedroom  was  filled  with  clothing  and  folding  cots 
and  the  extra  bedding  and  other  things,  and  the  little 
dark  hole  of  a  kitchen  was  out  of  the  question.  So 
there  was  really  only  the  one  room.  And  this  was  the 
living  room  of  seven  of  us.  Here  we  slept,  and  washed, 
and  dressed,  and  ate.  We  had  to  make  great  prepara- 
tions to  receive  a  stranger.  Now  it  was  not  as  when 
we  were  little.  We  felt  conscious  of  the  inevitable  dirt 
and  the  dinginess  and  the  broken  up  furniture  and  felt 
ashamed. 

So  we  met  on  the  stoop.  L.  V.  told  me  he  had  been  to 
many  places.  And  I  was  proud  to  tell  him  what  I  knew 
of  life  outside  of  Cherry  Street.  I  told  him  of  the 
people  and  White  Birch  Farm.  He  showed  surprise 
to  meet  any  one  here  who  knew  anything  outside  of 
the  old  customs.  Our  common  knowledge  outside  of 
here  was  at  once  like  a  relationship  between  us  and 
seemed  to  separate  us  a  little  from  the  rest. 

My  parents  saw  me  talking  to  the  young  man  and 
they  smiled  at  each  other.  The  aunt  also  saw.  Then 
one  day  I  noticed  that  my  mother  was  no  longer  smiling 
and  she  told  me  that  L.  V.'s  aunt  felt  it  her  duty  to 
tell  us  about  her  nephew.  "He  was  really  not  a  bad 
young  man,  but  he  got  in  with  the  Christians,  with  the 
missioners!"  the  aunt  explained.  At  this  my  heart  be- 
gan to  beat  so  quickly  that  it  pained.  I  felt  a  foreboding 
of  coming  trouble.  Soon  I  learned  that  L.  V.  was  bap- 
tised and  that  the  missionaries  were  training  him  for 
their  own  profession. 

By  now  L.  V.  was  coming  into  the  house  and  I  con- 
tinued to  see  him  as  before.  But  to  my  parents  now 
there  was  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  A  Jew  who 
forsook  his  own  religion,  his  own  people,  was  worse 


294  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

than  a  Gentile,  worse  than  a  heathen.  He  was  an  "apos- 
tate." He  was  a  disgrace!  Supposing  the  neighbours 
learned  who  the  young  man  was;  that  their  daughter 
went  about  with  an  outcast !  For  he  who  forsook  Judaism 
for  another  religion  belonged  nowhere.  He  may  be  bap- 
tised a  thousand  times  to  the  Christian  he  is  still  "The 
Jew"  and  his  own  people  can  only  pray  to  God  to  have 
pity  on  him.  If,  then,  it  should  become  known  that  their 
daughter  associated  with  a  "meshumad"  (apostate),  the 
whole  family  would  be  disgraced.  And  what  would  her 
chance  of  marriage  be !  And  marriage  was  all  important. 
As  a  specimen  of  a  daughter  I  was  a  disappointment. 
First  there  had  been  the  illness,  then  disobedience  and 
queer  notions,  and  what  kind  of  an  influence  was  I  for 
the  children?  Clearly,  then,  it  would  be  a  blessing  if  I 
were  married.  And  then,  too,  I  was  already  eighteen. 
And  it  was  really  high  time,  the  two  younger  girls  were 
coming  up  very  fast. 

As  to  myself,  I  felt  bewildered.  Between  my  parents 
and  the  young  man  and  my  own  feelings  and  ideas  which 
seemed  all  tangled  up,  I  could  not  easily  distinguish  one 
thing  from  another.  To  break  friendship  because  his 
ideas  happened  to  be  different  seemed  narrow-minded. 
And  I  did  not  want  to  be  narrow-minded.  I  also  felt 
that  my  parents  must  allow  me  to  judge  for  myself. 
And  they  must  trust  me.  But  they  would  do  neither. 
Father,  as  of  old,  wanted  me  to  submit  to  him  in  the  old 
custom.  His  opposition  antagonised  me  now  more  than 
ever.  I  fought  against  him  with  all  my  strength.  Mother 
hinted  that  I  drop  the  acquaintance  with  L.  V.  but  I 
ignored  it.  Father  commanded  and  I  refused.  Of 
course,  they  could  do  nothing.  They  even  had  to  smile 
that  neighbours  might  not  guess.  But  what  trouble  there 
was  within  our  four  walls! 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  295 

In  the  meantime  I  learned  to  know  L.  V.  better  and 
better.  He  talked  religion  just  as  the  woman  missionary 
in  the  hospital  had  talked.  It  sounded  like  a  lesson 
learnt  by  heart.  Then,  too,  there  was  a  certain  lightness 
about  everything  he  said.  Always  the  eyes  lacked  seri- 
ousness and  the  lips  almost  smiled  as  if  life  were  a  joke. 
I  felt  dreadfully  troubled. 

One  Saturday  he  came  to  our  house  with  a  young 
man  friend  of  his  and  introduced  him.  I  little  thought 
that  day  to  what  his  introduction  would  lead  later. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  and  our  candlesticks  which, 
we  placed  on  the  table  Friday  night  still  stood  there.  We 
would  not  touch  them  until  it  grew  dark  and  at  least 
three  stars  were  out.  Only  the  very  orthodox  Jews 
observe  this  custom.  But  in  our  house  father  made  us  all 
observe  it,  no  matter  what  other  customs  were  neglected. 
L.  V.'s  friend  noticed  it  with  surprise.  He  said  he  had 
not  been  to  such  a  strictly  orthodox  looking  house  since 
he  had  come  to  this  country  ten  years  before.  I  could 
see  that  he  looked  at  us  all  with  pity.  Knowing  L.  V.'s 
ideas  on  religion,  he  understood  what  trouble  we  were 
all  in. 

I  had  never  seen  L.  V.  before  with  other  people  except 
with  those  of  my  own  family.  He  and  his  friend  dis- 
cussed politics  and  religion.  And  I  sat  and  listened  and 
watched  them.  They  were  so  different.  L.  V.,  as  always, 
spoke  jestingly  about  everything.  The  friend  was  seri- 
ous, yet  he  could  jest  too.  He  was  very  outspoken,  al- 
most blunt.  I  liked  him. 

When  they  were  gone  mother  looked  at  me  with  her 
pleading  eyes  and  said,  "Now,  do  you  see  the  difference  ?" 
Something  within  me  seemed  to  harden  in  a  moment 
And  I  said,  "No,  I  can't  see  any  difference."  , 

What  would   have  happened   I   cannot  tell,  but  he 


296      OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

soon  left  for  Chicago  to  prepare  to  go  to  a  theological 
seminary  out  West  and  we  began  to  correspond.  And 
now  an  unexpected  joy  came  into  my  life.  Writing! 
And  here  again,  as  with  the  other  things  that  I  had 
learned,  it  seemed  accidental.  It  is  to  this  correspondence 
that  I  owe  a  great  deal  of  what  I  learned  of  writing  in 
English.  With  the  help  of  the  children  I  could  read  and 
write  script  myself  now.  All  day  long  then  at  the  ma- 
chine, I  thought  over  what  I  would  say,  and  looked  for- 
ward to  the  evening  when  I  could  write.  This  to  me 
was  not  like  writing  a  sentence  which  no  one  would  ever 
see.  The  thought  that  what  I  wrote  would  be  read  and 
weighed  and  thought  about  filled  me  with  excitement. 
So  I  wrote  and  re-wrote  my  letters  using  up  a  great  deal 
of  paper.  Months  passed,  and  one  day  I  was  filled  with 
joy  and  pride.  I  realised  quite  suddenly  that  I  had 
learned  to  read  and  write  well  enough  to  do  the  corre- 
sponding myself. 

In  the  spring  L.  V.  returned  to  the  city  to  start  West. 
One  day  he  told  me  that  he  loved  me  and  asked  me  to 
wait  for  him  two  years.  I  thought  of  my  parents  and 
I  could  not  help  weeping  at  the  suffering  I  must  cause 
them.  But  I  also  thought  it  right  for  me  to  do  what 
I  thought  was  right.  I  saw  my  life  so  empty  without 
the  letters.  "Surely,  that  was  love."  And  I  promised  to 
wait. 

He  went  away  and  again  he  began  to  correspond. 
How  joyfully  I  greeted  the  first  letter  that  came!  I 
knew  and  loved  every  line  and  curve  of  the  simple,  clear 
handwriting.  I  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  copying 
the  phrases  that  pleased  me.  I  gave  these  letters  most 
of  my  time  and  thought.  I  almost  lived  for  them. 

In  his  letters,  L.  V.  sometimes  told  me  of  boyish 
escapades,  flirtations,  but  as  long  as  letters  came  noth- 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  297 

ing  mattered.  Sometimes  when  I  thought  it  over  it 
seemed  queer  that  it  did  not  matter.  Sometimes,  too,  I 
tried  to  think  of  myself  married,  but  I  could  not  picture 
myself  married  to  him  or  any  one  else.  I  liked  the  com- 
panionship of  men,  but  the  thought  of  marriage  often 
filled  me  with  fear,  even  with  disgust.  So  the  sweatshop 
left  its  mark. 


298  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LXII 

FATHER  felt  relieved  when  L.  V.  was  gone.  Upon 
the  correspondence  he  chose  to  look  as  "nonsense."  He 
thought  if  he  showed  he  looked  upon  it — the  correspond- 
ence and  the  promise  to  wait — as  nonsense,  it  would 
soon,  in  my  mind  too,  be  "nonsense,"  and  come  to  noth- 
ing. 

But  it  was  not  at  all  so.  I  arranged  my  life  now,  or 
it  arranged  itself,  in  some  sort  of  a  systematic  way. 
This  was  the  end  of  June;  I  soon  left  for  White  Birch 
Farm.  Since  that  first  summer  I  continued  to  go  there 
every  summer  though  my  health  was  better  now.  I  had 
many  little  responsibilities  there  by  now,  and  both  Irene 
and  I  felt  a  part  of  the  place,  and  it  was  so  that  we  were 
looked  upon  by  the  doctor  and  Miss  Farly.  Not  to  go 
there  now  that  I  was  well  never  occurred  to  me.  I  even 
thought  that  it  was  fortunate  for  my  people  that  I  could 
go.  Since  I  was  no  comfort  to  them,  the  less  I  was 
home  the  better.  And  as  for  me,  the  very  thought  of 
that  sweet,  quiet  life  out  there  was  a  joy. 

When  winter  came  I  went  back  to  my  tucking  machine. 
In  the  evening  I  wrote  my  letters  and  read  a  good  deal. 
I  went  out  little.  I  wanted  passionately  to  be  "true." 

On  a  Sunday  or  an  evening  during  the  week  I  would 
go  to  see  Miss  O'There,  who  lived  in  Brooklyn.  I  would 
walk  to  and  across  the  bridge  thinking  over  all  I  wanted 
to  talk  to  her  about.  But  often  when  I  came  near  the 
little  house  my  courage  failed  me.  I  was  in  constant 
fear  of  meeting  strangers,  and  I  would  turn  and  walk 
back.  One  night  what  I  feared  happened. 

Once  when  I  came  and  she  opened  the  door  for  me,  I 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  299 

heard  voices,  laughing  and  talking.  I  wanted  at  once  to 
run  away.  I  knew  that  some  of  the  girls  who  were  visit- 
ing her  were  teachers,  and  some  were  still  attending 
normal  college.  I  thought,  What  have  I  in  common  with 
them  ?  What  can  I  say  to  them  ?  What  can  they  have  to 
say  to  me  ?  And  I  mumbled  that  now  that  I  had  seen  her 
I  would  go  home.  She  looked  at  me,  and  there  was  a 
twinkle  in  her  eyes.  I  could  never  hide  anything  from 
her.  The  next  moment  she  begged  me  earnestly  to  meet 
the  girls. 

"Stay  and  make  friends  of  them." 

And  I  begged  her,  "Not  yet,  wait  till  I  learn  a  little 
more." 

"But  they  too  will  be  learning,"  she  said.  "Do  you 
suppose  they  will  stand  still  ?  Come,  you  will  learn  from 
them.  And,  Ruth,  you  too  might  have  something  to 
teach  them." 

The  next  moment  she  opened  the  door.  "Meet  my 
friend,"  she  said,  and  I  saw  five  girls  of  about  my  own 
age  stand  up.  Through  the  years  each  one  has  become 
so  dear  to  me,  and  I  do  not  know  where  to  begin  and 
what  to  say.  I  can  tell  of  that  first  evening  only.  I 
did  not  get  their  names,  but  in  the  course  of  the  evening 
each  one  did  something  different  and  it  was  so  that  I 
remembered  them  later.  Three  of  the  girls  were  sisters; 
the  eldest,  an  athletic-looking  girl,  with  a  wealth  of 
brown  hair  and  a  hearty  laugh,  played  the  piano.  The 
next  sister,  who  bubbled  with  enthusiasm,  sang  Scotch 
songs  and  the  youngest,  with  fine  dark  eyes  and  her  hair 
still  in  a  braid,  read  aloud  from  "Margaret  Ogilvy"  by 
J.  M.  Barrie.  The  fourth  girl  had  a  sweet  voice  and  sang 
German  songs.  And  the  fifth,  a  quiet  girl,  would  every 
now  and  then  say  something  in  her  quiet  way  and  there 
would  be  a  burst  of  laughter.  But  they  did  not  perform 


300  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

all  evening.  They  also  talked.  They  talked  about  the 
theatre,  the  opera  (foreign  language  to  me).  They 
talked  about  school  and  college.  The  labour  champion 
was  there,  they  talked  about  labour.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  end  to  their  knowledge  and  their  plans.  They  even 
talked  in  a  dreamy  way  about  taking  a  trip  to  Europe 
when  all  the  girls  should  graduate  and  earn  money.  Miss 
O'There  was  with  them  in  all  their  dreams  and  her  white- 
haired  mother  was  as  young  as  the  rest. 

After  this  the  girls  would  hunt  me  up  and  make  me 
join  them.  One  of  the  sisters  helped  me  to  a  little 
more  systematic  study. 

Besides  these  girls  there  were  my  old  friends,  the 
women  I  met  through  the  hospital,  whom  I  would  visit. 
Most  of  them  were  unhappy  in  some  way  or  another, 
and  tried  to  forget.  They  and  their  lives  still  fascinated 
me.  There  was  one  who  lived  in  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful homes  there  are  in  the  city.  She  gave  me  the  New 
Testament,  which  I  still  have,  and  would  talk  to  me  of 
the  "Simple  Life." 

There  was  another,  a  very  charming  woman.  I  used 
to  hear  her  friends  say  of  her  with  a  great  show  of 
enthusiasm:  "Those  big  rough  men  at  the  church  are 
like  putty  in  her  hands."  She  felt  she  knew  the 
working  people's  lives.  Yet  she  used  to  invite  me  to 
come  and  see  her  at  the  queerest  hour,  six  o'clock,  when 
I  would  be  coming  from  work.  I  could  no  longer  listen 
without  criticism,  and  it  was  often  hard  to  go  from  their 
homes  to  my  own. 

But  there  was  one  whom  I  loved  to  visit.  She  was 
twenty-five,  and  she  was  a  mixture  of  three  different 
nationalities,  German,  French  and  American.  She  was 
so  good  and  so  beautiful  that  it  seemed  she  inherited  only 
the  best  qualities  of  the  three  nations.  She  showed 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  301 

frankly  .hat  she  knew  nothing  about  the  working  people 
and  th;  c  she  was  curious.  She  could  never  stop  wonder- 
ing ?*  my  going  out  alone  at  night.  She  had  never  been 
out  ithout  a  chaperon.  She  would  often  urge  me  to 
put  on  a  veil. 

'At  least,"  she  once  said,  "put  it  on  when  you  come  to 
.our  own  neighbourhood." 

I  laughed  at  her  and  assured  her  that  I  was  safer  in 
my  own  neighbourhood  than  in  hers. 

"In  your  neighbourhood,"  I  said,  "there  are  so  few 
people  in  the  street  and  the  houses  stand  so  dark  and 
still." 

To  her,  I,  too,  would  talk  frankly.  And  we  often  got 
into  arguments.  She  defended  her  people  and  I  defended 
mine.  She  talked  of  refinement  and  culture.  I  was  at 
a  loss.  What  was  refinement  and  culture?  She  ex- 
plained to  me  simply,  "When  for  generations  you  live 
in  a  beautiful  home,  you  are  surrounded  by  beautiful 
pictures,  you  listen  to  beautiful  music,  you  eat  good  food, 
you  are  taken  care  of.  Do  you  see?" 

I  said  that  I  saw,  but  it  was  all  so  puzzling. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "that  when  a  man,  my  father, 
works  all  day  long,  he  ought  to  have  a  beautiful  home,  he 
ought  to  have  good  food,  he  too  ought  to  get  a  chance 
to  appreciate  beautiful  music.  All  day  my  father  is  mak- 
ing coats  yet  his  own  is  so  shabby,  and  my  mother,  if  you 
ever  saw  her  hands!  Why  should  she  know  of  nothing 
but  scrubbing  and  scrimping?  Why  should  her  children 
go  without  an  education?" 

Then  her  pretty  forehead  would  pucker  up ;  she  moved 
closer  to  me,  if  we  were  on  the  couch,  her  hand  would 
clasp  mine. 

"Yes,  it  does  seem  so,"  she  would  say  thoughtfully. 

In  this  way  a  part  of  the  two  years  passed  in  some- 


302  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

thing  like  a  peaceful  way.  Then  father  noticed  that  I 
had  not  the  least  intention  of  dropping  the  correspond- 
ence and  he  felt  ill  treated  and  became  bitter.  "Good 
God,"  he  complained  to  mother,  "was  it  possible  that  the 
girl  meant  to  keep  up  that  nonsense?"  He  commanded 
me  to  drop  writing  the  letters.  I  refused,  and  our  troub- 
les began  once  more.  Now  he  fairly  burnt  me  with  his 
anger  and  I  thought  him  cruel  and  was  more  relieved 
than  ever  when  summer  came  and  I  could  escape  to  the 
country.  Father  hated  to  see  me  go  there.  He  was  in 
constant  fear  that  I  would  forget  whatever  little  there 
was  in  me  that  bound  me  to  my  race.  And  this  year,  it 
was  the  second,  my  father  whom  I  remembered  so  gentle, 
cursed  me  as  I  was  leaving  and  I  went  from  home  for 
the  three  months  without  a  word  of  farewell  to  him. 
Mother  ran  after  me  into  the  hall.  She  suffered  more 
than  any  of  us  from  these  ruptures.  She  begged  me 
not  to  leave  my  father  without  a  kind  word.  But  I  would 
not  even  look  back.  She  turned  back  into  the  house 
weeping  and  I  went  into  a  strange  hallway  and  wept 
too  at  all  our  misery. 

When  I  returned  home  in  the  autumn  I  could  not  hold 
out  against  father,  and  I  finally  had  to  give  up  the  letters, 
but  of  L.  V.  I  heard  through  a  friend.  What  those  let- 
ters really  meant  to  me  I  only  now  understood. 

The  letters  out  of  the  way,  father  gave  me  a  few 
weeks  to  forget  and  then  began  to  consult  matchmakers. 
Several  nights  a  week  now  on  coming  home  from  work 
I  would  find  a  matchmaker  and  a  young  man.  Father 
no  longer  kept  a  secret  my  friendship  with  L.  V.  He 
was  in  terror  about  it.  He  began  to  consult  friends  and 
relatives  and  they  all  seemed  to  combine  against  me. 
Wherever  I  went  to  visit  now  I  was  sure  to  find  a  young 
man,  and  the  relative  or  friend  acting  as  matchmaker. 


Wt    I J 


IT   WAS    A   ONE-DOOR    STORE. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 303 

The  younger  and  seemingly  more  enlightened  friends 
would  argue.  "What  are  you  waiting  for?  You  are 
wasting  your  best  years.  You  are  losing  your  best 
chances."  A  lawyer  we  knew,  a  very  nice  man,  who  mar- 
ried money  to  establish  an  office,  said,  "There  is  no  love!" 
And  still  others  spoke  with  pity.  "You  are  chasing  after 
a  shadow !  This  is  not  the  age  for  religion.  The  young 
man  is  a  mercenary,  he  is  not  sincere,  he  is  being  sup- 
ported by  missionaries.  He  is  selling  his  soul  for  an 
easy  life!  There  are  others  like  him." 

And  father  would  demand,  "What  do  you  want  any- 
way? The  young  man  you  saw  last  night  is  worthy  ten 
of  your  kind,  with  your  queer  notions.  He  has  fifty 
tailors  working  for  him.  He  will  give  you  a  home  with 
carpet  on  the  floor,  a  servant  and  a  piano." 

I  would  answer.     "I  promised  to  wait." 

But  sometimes  there  were  moments  when  I  was  tempt- 
ed. A  home!  A  piano!  But  was  this  all  I  wanted? 
And  what  was  love?  Now  I  knew  that  I  still  did  not 
know. 

With  all  my  troubles  I  went  to  Miss  O'There  whom 
I  gave  my  every  thought,  and  she  even  in  her  affection 
never  failed  to  tell  me  the  truth.  These  moments  were 
always  painful  to  both  of  us,  for  I  was  so  often  wrong. 

One  night  in  the  spring  when  I  came  to  her — it  was 
the  end  of  the  second  year,  and  I  was  complaining  of  the 
old  life  and  customs  and  father's  treatment — I  suddenly 
noticed  that  she  was  all  upset  and  I  stopped  talking  quite 
abruptly.  I  suddenly  felt  guilty  and  uneasy  without 
knowing  why. 

"You  are  always  complaining  about  your  father,"  she 
said,  "his  selfishness,  his  narrow-mindedness,  his  hard- 
ness. And  soon  summer  will  come  and  you  will  go  away 
to  the  country.  Every  summer,  no  matter  where  you  are, 


3C4 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

what  you  are  doing,  you  leave  your  work  and  you  go 
away  while  the  rest  remain  here  sweating.  Do  you  give 
a  thought  how  your  family  lives  here  without  your  help?" 

I  felt  horrified.     I  never  saw  it  in  that  way  before. 

She  went  on. 

"You  say  he  is  scrimping,  he  demands  your  board 
whether  you  work  the  week  or  not;  he  lives  for  money. 
One  has  to  live  for  something.  His  ideas?  Right  or 
wrong,  according  to  him,  you  have  been  a  disappoint- 
ment. He  had  placed  all  his  hopes  in  you,  his  oldest 
daughter.  Who  knows  what  this  disappointment  may 
have  meant  to  him?" 

So  I  gave  up  White  Birch  Farm.  At  first  life  seemed 
hardly  worth  living.  All  day  now  lost  in  the  clattering 
noise  of  the  machine  there  was  nothing  to  which  to  look 
forward.  Now  it  would  always  be  so,  feeding,  feeding 
the  machine.  And  then  the  night.  The  nights  were  the 
worst. 

I  had  forgotten  what  it  was  like  in  the  hot  summer. 
There  were  five  of  us,  the  two  boys  in  one  cot  and  we 
three  girls  in  the  other,  in  the  one  room  filled  with  the 
odour  of  cooking,  of  kerosene  oil,  the  smell  of  grimy 
clothes,  of  stale  perspiration,  the  heat  of  the  body;  at 
first  as  I  lay  with  my  two  sisters  in  the  sagging  cot,  with 
an  unconscious  limb  of  one  or  the  other  thrown  over  me, 
I  wept.  Then  I  thought,  Why  need  it  be  so?  Why? 
And  later  little  by  little  I  became  used  to  it  and  at  my 
machine  I  would  live  certain  moments  in  the  country 
over  again.  I  would  imagine  myself  in  the  grove.  I 
heard  the  children's  voices.  Under  the  trees  were  the 
red  and  green  benches  I  had  helped  to  make.  I  walked 
down  to  the  brook  and  sat  on  the  rock  from  which  I  used 
to  dive  and  listen  to  the  quiet.  I  smelt  the  grasses  grow- 
ing on  the  edge;  I  felt  the  cool,  moist  air  on  my  face, 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  305 

I  sat  perfectly  still.  From  far  out  came  a  familiar  shrill, 
cheerful  call  "Bob- White !"  And  I  was  not  so  unhappy. 
I  saw  that  I  could  still  visit  White  Birch  Farm.  I  was 
helping  my  people  and  my  friend's  approval  meant  much 
to  me. 

In  August  it  was  slack  in  our  shop.  It  was  slack  in  all 
trades.  Miss  O' There  urged  that  I  deserved  a  vacation, 
so  I  packed  a  few  things  and  went  to  White  Birch  Farm, 
and  was  heartily  welcomed.  Again  I  was  in  my  little 
room  with  the  pale,  blue  walls  and  the  window  looking 
into  the  green  trees.  Again  I  played  with  the  children 
in  the  shade  of  the  grove.  I  bathed  in  the  brook,  I 
wandered  about  in  the  fields.  But  what  was  it?  I  could 
not  find  the  joy  of  the  other  years.  Wherever  I  looked 
I  seemed  to  see  Cherry  Street.  I  could  not  shut  it  out. 
I  saw  the  children  on  the  hot  and  none-too-clean  side- 
walks, the  fire  escapes  littered  with  bedclothes,  overheat- 
ed sickly  infants,  tired  out  women.  The  sight  of  the 
beautiful  green  fields  irritated  me.  And  I  went  home  in 
spite  of  Miss  O'There's  letter  urging  me  to  stay,  of  the 
forewoman's  letter  telling  me  that  there  was  still  no 
work,  in  spite  of  Miss  Farly's  arguments.  I  felt  strange- 
ly glad  to  be  home  and  share  the  good  and  the  bad  with 
my  people. 


306  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LXIII 

ONE  day  in  the  third  year  I  met  L.  V.'s  friend.  I 
had  seen  him  twice  since  the  first  time  he  had  been  in- 
troduced. Once  during  the  first  year  he  came  on  receiving 
a  letter  from  L.  V.  asking  him  to  come.  Because  he  was 
L.  V.'s  friend  I  too  looked  upon  him  almost  as  a  friend. 
I  felt  no  awkwardness  in  talking  to  him.  I  asked  him 
that  night  to  come  again.  But  he  never  came.  And  I 
never  saw  him  until  I  met  him  now  in  the  street.  I  was 
so  glad,  he  was  L.  V.'s  friend!  To  him  I  could  talk 
of  L.  V.,  whose  image  was  growing  more  and  more 
vague  in  my  mind.  And  the  more  vague  it  became  the 
more  I  wanted  to  think  and  talk  of  him.  His  friend 
guessed  how  it  was.  He  watched  me  curiously,  and 
smiled  as  if  he  were  a  little  amused.  We  walked  about 
and  we  talked.  We  talked  of  books  we  had  read.  He 
was  a  Russian  and  he  had  some  education  in  that  lan- 
guage. English  he  had  picked  up  in  some  such  way  as 
a  hen  gathered  food,  a  crumb  here  and  a  crumb  there. 
He  was  extremely  well  read  in  both  Russian  and  English. 

I  asked  him  to  call.  But  again  I  never  saw  him  until 
we  met  once  more  by  accident.  And  again  we  walked 
and  talked  all  evening.  This  time,  when  he  was  leaving 
me  at  my  door,  I  did  not  ask  him  to  come  and  he  asked 
me  quite  suddenly  in  his  blunt  way,  "Why?"  I  felt 
confused  and  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  He  bent 
and  looked  at  me  and  then  threw  his  head  back  and 
laughed.  I  left  him  abruptly  and  went  in.  The  next 
night,  to  my  surprise,  he  came  up  to  our  home!  He 
stayed  all  evening  and  talked  to  father  about  his  work 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  307 

and  father  looked  pleasanter  than  he  had  been  for  a 
long  while. 

After  this  he  came  often  and  brought  books. 

Once  almost  two  weeks  passed  and  he  did  not  come. 
Then  we  met,  by  accident,  as  I  thought.  It  seemed  to 
me  he  looked  thinner  and  I  asked,  "Were  you  ill  ?" 

"Oh,  no!"  he  said,  and  added,  after  a  moment,  with- 
out looking  at  me,  in  his  blunt  way,  "It  is  just  this,  I  am 
not  ready  to  get  married." 

I  stared  at  him  a  long  minute  before  the  full  meaning 
dawned  on  me.  I  felt  my  face  flush.  I  was  indignant. 

"So  sure  is  this  young  man." 

He  noticed  my  discomfiture. 

"Oh,  you  know  how  these  things  end,"  he  said.  "At 
least  I  do,"  he  smiled. 

I  felt  calmer  by  now  and  decided  to  deal  with  the 
young  man. 

"By  all  means  this  must  end,  if  you  feel  there  is  danger 
for  you.  Of  course,"  I  assured  him,  "there  is  none  for 
me." 

To  my  surprise  he  looked  anything  but  happy,  at  which 
my  spirits  rose. 

"Let  us  say  good  night  at  once,"  I  said  cheerfully. 

"I  see,"  he  said  crossly;  "you  are  only  too  eager." 

I  laughed  and  we  walked  in  silence  for  some  moments. 
Then  an  idea  occurred  to  me  at  which  I  could  not  help 
laughing. 

"I  have  a  bright  idea,"  I  said.  "Let  us  be  friends. 
But  as  soon  as  one  of  us  feels  the  least  bit  of  danger 
for  himself  he  must  tell  the  other  at  once." 

"That  is  brilliant,"  he  said  in  Yiddish,  and  laughed 
too.  "But  remember  if  it  should  be  you!" 

"I'll  tell,"  I  assured  him,  and  laughingly  we  parted. 

And  now  we  saw  each  other  often.    We  would  go  to 


308 OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

lectures,  often  we  would  go  for  long  walks  and  talk 
nonsense.  He  said  I  was  too  serious  and  teased  me  until 
I  had  to  laugh.  One  day  he  asked  me  to  go  to  the 
theatre  with  him,  but  of  course  I  would  not  go.  Be- 
sides, he  had  once  said  that  women  generally  liked  men 
for  what  they  could  get  from  them.  I  was  very  touchy 
on  the  subject  of  my  sex  and  I  meant  to  teach  him  to 
have  a  different  opinion.  I  would  not  take  anything 
from  him,  at  which  he  looked  miserable  and  I  thought 
it  an  excellent  punishment  and  a  good  lesson.  Then  a 
time  came  when  he  began  to  demand  to  know  what  I 
had  for  supper  and  would  insist  on  my  coming  to  a 
restaurant.  He  said  I  looked  hungry  and  I  would  be 
indignant  and  accuse  him  of  trying  to  "boss"  me.  If  I 
had  allowed  myself  now  I  would  have  been  happy.  But 
how  could  I  ?  When  I  thought  of  L.  V.  I  felt  miserable 
and  guilty.  He  had  not  returned  at  the  end  of  the  second 
year.  But  now  it  was  almost  three  years  and  he  must 
surely  soon  come.  What  would  I  say  to  him? 

When  he  came  I  explained  as  well  as  I  could. 

One  night  in  the  spring  a  year  later,  D.  C.  and  I  were 
taking  a  long  walk.  It  was  windy  and  we  walked  with 
our  heads  a  little  bent.  I  thought  that  he  scarcely  talked, 
and  he  had  remarked  that  I  was  so  silent.  At  ten  o'clock 
we  stood  on  the  stoop  before  our  door.  He  was  still 
silent.  Suddenly  I  could  not  have  told  what  came  over 
me.  I  said:  "I  think  our  friendship  better  cease  here." 
No  sooner  did  I  utter  the  words  and  he  looked  at  me 
than  I  remembered  the  agreement  we  had  once  made  in 
jest  and  I  could  see  that  he  too  remembered  it.  I  felt 
panic-stricken.  I  rushed  to  the  door,  pulled  it  open  and 
ran  through  the  dark  hall, — the  gas  was  already  out. 
I  ran  up  a  flight  of  stairs  and  there  I  stood,  panting.  The 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  309 

next  moment  I  heard  the  door  open,  a  quick  footstep  in 
the  hall  and  my  name : 

"Ruth!" 

I  pressed  my  hand  to  my  heart.  He  had  never  called 
me  Ruth. 

"Please  come  down!"  came  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"I  can't,"  I  said. 

"Just  for  a  moment." 

"I  can't." 

"I  want  to  see  your  eyes." 

"Not  to-night." 

"To-morrow  then?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Good  night!    Then  I'll  wait  till  you  go  in." 

A  moment  later  I  called:  "I  am  in.   Good  night!" 

I  found  the  house  dark  when  I  opened  the  door.  From 
every  corner  came  quiet  breathing.  I  felt  the  way  to 
my  cot.  Sister,  too,  was  asleep.  I  sat  down  beside  her, 
and  sat  still  for  a  moment.  I  could  almost  hear  my 
heart  beating.  Then  I  remembered  that  sister  once  won- 
dered how  it  felt  to  be  happy.  I  touched  her  face,  "Wake 
up!"  I  wanted  to  tell  her  that  I  knew. 


310  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 


LXIV 

THAT  summer  work  was  slow  in  father's  shop,  and  as 
he  had  at  last  saved  a  hundred  dollars  he  thought,  "When 
could  there  be  a  better  opportunity  to  try  business  ?"  So 
the  fall  found  us  established  in  two  rooms  in  the  back 
of  a  little  grocery  store  and  the  whole  family  was  bent 
on  making  a  success.  Sister  was  behind  the  counter,  as 
she  was  the  most  competent  and  modern  and  really 
showed  a  knack  for  the  business  and  father  and  mother 
did  the  rougher  work  and  looked  on.  Now  it  was  nec- 
essary and  they  must  learn  the  modern  ways,  learn  from 
the  children.  Father  shook  his  head  at  this  sadly,  "What 
a  strange  world!"  he  said. 

At  first  the  pennies  came  in  so  slowly  that  there  was 
great  fear  for  the  long  saved  hundred  dollars.  But  little 
by  little  business  began  to  improve.  Indeed,  how  could 
it  be  otherwise?  Sister,  who  was  so  good  and  kind  and 
sweet  tempered,  would  wait  on  a  little  girl  buying  two 
cents'  worth  of  milk  with  a  courtesy  as  if  she  were  buy- 
ing a  dollar's  worth.  And  father  and  mother  and  the 
younger  girl  and  boy  would,  any  of  them,  climb  five 
flights  of  stairs  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  with  five 
cents'  worth  of  rolls  for  a  customer  who  bought  nothing 
else.  So  trade  was  coming  their  way.  The  store  soon 
became  one  of  the  most  successful  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  sister  became  very  popular.  The  women  told  her 
their  troubles,  the  children  saved  their  pennies  in  her 
care.  When  she  would  pass  through  the  block,  from 
everywhere  children  would  come  dancing  up  to  her,  call- 
ing her  name  and  greeting  her  affectionately.  Every  one 
loved  and  trusted  her. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  311 

But  there  was  one  trouble  about  this  store.  It  threat- 
ened to  absorb  her  whole  life.  As  neither  father  nor 
mother  could  write  or  keep  accounts  she  was  completely 
tied  down  to  the  store.  Father,  who  was  happy  to  be 
making  a  living  independent  of  the  tailor  shop,  found 
it  hard  to  see  how  she  should  care  for  anything  else  but 
the  store.  Nevertheless  he  began  to  learn  how  to  write. 
Of  an  evening  then,  when  business  would  be  slow,  he 
would  sit  down  at  the  counter  with  pencil  and  paper 
and  try  to  copy  the  letters  or  numbers  we  would  write 
out  for  him.  After  poring  over  his  slip  of  paper  for  a 
while  he  would  look  up,  his  forehead  covered  with  per- 
spiration. Then  he  would  lay  down  his  pencil  to  rest 
his  stiffened  fingers  and  sigh,  "It  is  hard  to  learn  at  my 
age,  children,  it  is  hard  to  learn." 

The  boy,  nineteen  years  old  now,  the  one  who  had  once 
dreamt  of  becoming  a  great  Rabbi,  was  not  in  the  store. 
He  was  bringing  home  the  laurels. 

Though  he  was  earnest  and  studious,  at  thirteen  he 
still  had  two  years  of  public  school  ahead  of  him,  since 
he  had  begun  late  and  what  education  he  had  was  foreign. 
So,  as  he  was  of  an  extremely  independent  nature,  and 
also  perhaps  because  he  wanted  to  see  something  of  the 
world,  he  had  made  a  great  plea  to  be  allowed  to  go  to 
an  agricultural  school  instead.  There,  he  heard,  he  could 
finish  his  elementary  education  and  earn  his  living  by 
working  in  the  fields  after  school  hours  and  at  the  same 
time  learn  a  trade.  He  would  be  an  agriculturalist.  And 
it  was  from  that  school  that  he  graduated  two  years 
later.  He  was  placed  by  the  school  with  a  Gentile  farmer. 
It  was  Passover  and  he  thought  of  home  and  felt  lonely 
and  strange.  And  one  day  he  walked  off  to  the  station, 
carrying  his  little  trunk  on  his  shoulder — both  were  very 


3i2  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

small,  the  trunk  and  the  boy — and  for  the  present  this  was 
the  end  of  farming. 

After  this  he  worked  as  a  grocery  boy,  a  drug  store 
boy,  a  boy  at  a  newsstand,  a  delivery  boy  on  Wanamak- 
er's  wagons  and  through  it  all  he  had  his  troubles.  He 
was  so  honest  and  outspoken  that  as  he  went  along  he 
made  as  many  enemies  as  friends.  Above  all  he  dis- 
liked pity  and  patronage.  One  day  while  working  on  Mr. 
Wanamaker's  wagon  he  delivered  a  ninety-eight  cent 
parcel.  The  woman  who  received  it  at  the  door  gave 
him  a  dollar  and  told  him  to  keep  the  change.  He  said, 
a  little  huffily,  I  imagine,  that  he  did  not  take  "tips"  and 
held  out  the  two  cents.  She  looked  him  up  and  down 
and  shut  the  door  in  his  face.  So  he  laid  the  two  pen- 
nies at  her  door  and  went  away.  Two  days  later  there 
was  a  complaint  of  discourtesy  against  him  and  he  was 
discharged. 

Because  of  his  independence  he  was  often  in  trouble 
but  he  managed  somehow.  He  paid  a  certain  amount 
into  the  house  and  the  rest  he  saved  always  for  some 
purpose  of  study.  He  often  got  into  debt  to  the  house 
but  as  soon  as  he  would  get  work  he  would  pay  scrupu- 
lously every  cent. 

During  an  interval  of  out  of  work  he  had  learned 
bookkeeping  and  typewriting  and  this  was  his  work  now. 
While  doing  this  he  was  also  making  Regents  counts. 
And  it  was  at  this  time  that  he  took  a  Civil  Service  exam- 
ination and  was  appointed  clerk  in  the  Bureau  of  Educa- 
tion in  Washington.  His  dream  was  to  earn  enough 
money  to  go  to  Columbia  University. 

He  realised  his  dream,  and  it  was  while  in  his  last  year 
at  the  university  that  he  won  the  second  prize  in  the 
"World  Work"  contest  on  "What  the  School  Will  Do 
for  the  Boy  of  To-morrow."  From  the  material  side  this 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  313 

money  came  now  as  if  in  answer  to  his  great  need.  He 
had  nothing  with  which  to  pay  his  last  year's  tuition,  and 
he  was  worried  and  discouraged.  But  far  greater  than 
the  value  of  this  money  was  the  honour,  for  so  we  felt  it 
to  be.  Mother  had  tears  in  her  eyes.  Her  boy  was  at 
the  great  university!  Her  boy's  article  was  valued  sec- 
ond to  that  of  a  superintendent  of  Industrial  Schools! 
And  father  looked  on  at  us  silently  unbelieving;  then  he 
said,  "Ah!  After  all  this  is  America." 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


JAN  1  &  1990 
ONE;  PAY 
JAN  1  8 


AUG  C  3 


CIRC 


19S3 


A     000648714    4 


